


Cast the First Stone

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Animals, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fictional Religion & Theology, Ghosts, High Fantasy, Inspired by Beastmaster, Inspired by The Witcher, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Snakes, Spiders, War, Witches, a mash up, inspired by Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, inspired by prince of persia, of a number of fantasy worlds, with a Cake spin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 100,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: It seemed like two simple jobs, or so Clint Barton and Natasha Romanova, monster hunters and for-hire mercenaries, thought.  All they had to do was avoid the holy city of Triskelia and the Gidran army laying siege to it. But life has never been simple for Wildes like them; when a large part of the world hates the fact you exist and another part wants to use you for their own ends, it's always a balance between the frying pan and the fire. With stolen books to juggle, secret plans to uncover, religious zealots to appease, and legendary assassins on their tail, they're going to need help to survive, even if that's a down on their luck trio of adventurers, a scholar in over his heads, a skeptical mage, and one very competent bad-ass ex-mercenary who's definitely hiding something.  And maybe, along the way, they'll find something more valuable than gold ... family and love.This is a mash-up of The Witcher, The Prince of Persia, Hansel & Gretel: Witch Hunters, and the old 80s flick, Beastmaster ... plus a good dose of the usual Cake AU madness.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, secondary -- James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, secondary -- Natasha romanov/bruce banner
Comments: 566
Kudos: 190





	1. World Map

**Author's Note:**

> First, I have to admit the only thing I know about The Witcher or The Prince of Persia comes from the Netflix show and cheesy Disney flick. This is more of an "inspired by" AU. 
> 
> Second, I recently made my daughter watch Beastmaster after talking about how much I love it; yeah, it hasn't aged all that well, but, damn it, ferrets and tigers and hawks and Marc Singer in a loincloth, so whatever. ;D
> 
> Third, "Wilde" is a term for those who are not entirely human. As Oscar said, "be yourself. Everyone else is taken." :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the fuzziness of the image. I'm working on getting a cleaner, larger version.


	2. Meetings of Chance and of Purpose

_“There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.”_

  
  
  


“Tell us a story!” 

The boys tugged at his jacket, following his every footstep as he crossed the tavern’s common room. No patrons sat on the long benches at this early hour; only the staff hustled around tables, cleaning before the mid-day meal rush. 

“Don’t you have chores?” He grinned as he tousled one of his nephew’s hair. “I’m sure your Ma can find something for you to …” 

“No!” the boys chorused together.

“Ma kicked us out of the kitchen,” William said. 

“Told us to go bother you,” Thomas added. 

He laughed. “Ah, I see. Up to no good, were you?” 

“We just wanted a taste,” Thomas explained. 

“Didn’t mean to knock the pan over,” William admitted. 

“Well, accidents do happen.” He picked up his lute from the peg by the fire. “Maybe a tale is in order.” 

They giggled and plopped down on the floor by the hearth, their usual spots to hear their uncle play. 

“Do the one about the fiddler and the ghost!” William said. 

“No, the one about the magic ring!” Thomas insisted. 

“He did that one last night,” William complained. 

“But I like it,” Thomas pouted.

“Considering the look your mother is giving us, I think her favorite would be a good choice.” He plucked at the strings, tightened the A string, then struck a chord. 

_Catch me a thief, he said, I need to live_

_Gone are the Kings and the protection they give,_

_Turn to the wastrels, the wildes and witches,_

_They are the tested, the tried and the true,_

_I’ll pay any price, whatever is due,_

_For it's love, love that will save me and you,_

_Not strength nor power nor smarts nor riches._

“Aw, not that one,” William moaned. “Ma sings it all the time.” 

“Yeah, I mean, we like it and all,” Thomas glanced over his shoulder to where his mother was working, “but it’s about kissing and stuff.” 

“True enough.” He strummed another chord, shifted into a minor fifth. ”How about one that has it all … sword fights, monsters, magic, and a little bit of true love?” 

“Yes!” they both agreed. 

He waited for the small nod from his sister, took her raised eyebrow for the warning it was, then launched into the tale. 

“Once upon a time, not all that long ago, when war spread across the land, there lived a pair of wilde hunters, trying to survive in such desperate times. The woman had the reddest of hair, like flames that leap from bonfires, golden tips on the ends; the man was darker, his shoulders broad, with a blonde dog that never left his side. They weren’t siblings, although they told people they were; no, their bond was stronger than blood. They had grown up on the streets, constantly worried where their next meal would come from. They only had each other as they survived the yearly purges, hiding who they were and what they could do until they were older and stronger. And so they came to the city of Malleton, in search of a paying job …”

* * *

The Belaying Pin was one of those inns that every city seemed to have; two streets over from the main docks, tucked down a slim alley that smelled like last week’s garbage and yesterday’s fish. Small, cramped, and smoky, the clientele picked the rough-hewn tables and unevenly balanced chairs precisely because it was a dive of the first order. Overpriced drinks, no kitchen, only the taciturn barkeep who slid mugs across the smooth dark wood and the two servers, an old woman with three teeth plus a peg leg and a grizzled middle-aged man so thin he practically disappeared when he turned sideways. 

“Are you sure about this? Only thing we’re likely to get here is dysentery,” Natasha asked, eyeing the dirty rim of her mug and the bits floating in the watered-down ale. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose, then pushed it away from her. 

In her black leather vest and snug pants, Natasha Romanova could be called beautiful … assuming the person passing judgment had no care for their own safety. Flame red hair tight in a simple braid, she had green eyes that saw everything and a sarcastic bow of lips that smirked rather than smiled. A smattering of freckles fell across her cheeks; an old scar ran from the corner of her left eye into her hairline, and a bump marred the line of her nose But it was the attitude that carried a warning, the way she held her shoulders high and her hands close to her belt. That, and the well-used pommel of her sword and number of dagger hilts on her body. 

“No,” Clint answered, eyes busy surveying the smarmy collection of other patrons. He’d already identified two swords-for-hire and a lightfinger slipping coin purses out of unwary pockets. “But he picked a dive by the docks, so, odds are, he’s got money … which we need.” 

A different creature altogether, Clint Barton wasn’t as put together as his companion, but he was deadly all the same. His long leather duster hung over the back of his chair, his linen shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The two buttons open on his vest revealed his collar bone, and the ends of his hair curled over his collar. An onlooker might be forgiven for assuming the dog at his feet was little more than a pet; sandy blonde, the mutt’s attention seemed focused on begging for pets from its masters. They might also think nothing of the bulging satchel hug across the man’s body and the occasional nose and paw that peaked from under the flap, but there was no overlooking the quarrel of arrows looped over a knee and bandolier of well-oiled knives. 

“To feed the menagerie that trails wherever you go, yes, I know.” Despite the words, she scratched the dog's head which rested on her thigh. Its tail thumped gently against the floor as it gazed up at her. “We’d be able to put more away if you didn’t spend so much on scraps for strays.” 

“Considering how many times those strays have helped us …” 

Two tables over, a chair screeched as it was dragged across the floor; a man stood and stalked their way. 

Natasha sighed. Every damn place they stopped, there was always someone, dumb as hell, thinking they were bigger, stronger, scarier, someone intent on putting them in their place. This one had a neck as thick as an ox and stringy black hair held in place by a leather band around his forehead. Arms with the circumference of a dinner plate, pudgy short fingers with knuckles that cracked as he clenched them, he wore a dirty cotton shirt under a simple leather jerkin. An enforcer, Clint would take bets, a guy who made his money by hitting whomever he was aimed at by someone with more brains than he possessed. 

“Hey. You.” The dead guy … because if Natasha didn’t kill him, Clint would … said, pointing a finger at them. “We don’t want your type in here.”

“And what type is that?” Natasha dropped into her rural drawl, the long vowels that slid into each other without separation. 

“Perversions.” He spat on the floor; Lucky turned his head, eyes narrowing as his lips curled to show his teeth. “Reditch, that’s what you are. Should burn the lot of you.” 

“Really?” Clint feigned surprise. “Are you sure?” 

“I know one when I see ‘em,” the guy replied.

“Well, now, I don’t believe that ‘cause if you did … and she was … do you think wandering over here and being an ass about it is the best course of action?” Clint let his lips curl up into a sharp smile. “Nah, I don’t think you do or you’d stay safe in your chair, drinking your cheap ale and nearly wetting yourself from just the merest thought of what she can do to you.” 

“Why you …” He bristled, all bluster and blow, readied his fists and planted his feet. 

“Now, Clint, darling, I think you’ve got our friend all wrong.” Natasha’s voice simmered between them, a curling tendril with a hint of power. “He thinks because I’m a woman, he’ll have no problem putting me in my place, magic or no magic. But his real mistake is not wondering what kind of man travels with one of my kind.” 

Tiny feet climbed up Clint’s sleeves, sinuous furry bodies wrapping around his neck; the two ferrets chittered as they stretched. Lucky came to heel, a growl issuing from his throat. Outside, dogs began barking, a lone howl echoing through the open tavern door. 

“Dreagst.” The man’s eyes widened as he whispered the name. “A fucking animal lover is what I smelled? That’s even worse!” 

Clint settled one hand on his sword hilt and the other on his knife. “You’re not going to take the hint, are you?”

“Yes, he is, aren’t you, Rikkard?” A new voice interrupted as a shadow fell across the table. If Rikkard was big, this man was enormous, shoulders spanning almost from beam to beam, towering above and blocking the light. A crisp linen jacket, perfectly fitted, polished silver buttons and a fine shirt beneath, expensive clothes on a brutish frame, and yet he belonged in this greasy tavern the same way the assassin in the far corner did. 

“But they’re …” Rikkard started to object but the newcomer raised a hand, gold pinky ring with a perfect emerald glinting in the flickering rays of the closest lantern. “Fucking half-breeds.” 

“Leave now and live,” the man ordered. 

Rikkard bobbed his head, threw Clint and Natasha a glare, then left the inn. 

“Whatever are you drinking? Jequine, bring three glasses of my personal bottle and take this swill away.” The big man pulled a chair over and sat down. “Two such august persons gracing one of my establishments? At a time when I have need of just such specific skills? Coincidence or fate, eh?” 

Clint had long ago gotten out of the habit of looking at Natasha during moments like these. Any show of emotion, even the smallest tick of the eye, could be used to predict behavior and the last thing they needed was to hand the biggest crime boss in the city leverage. In their profession, who hired you wasn’t as important as whether they paid once the job was done. A man like Wilson Fisk had a reputation to uphold; he might be a smug violent bastard, but he’d pony up the gold if they did what he asked. So instead, Clint caught Kodo by the scruff of the neck and deposited her back in the pouch; Podo scolded Clint, waving his paws and bopping Clint on the nose before following his sister. ,

“Such interesting creatures,” Watching the byplay, Fisk grinned, an oily slash that showed tips of yellowed teeth. “From your silence, I can assume you’re here to meet another potential client. Yes, this place is exactly the kind of spot I’d pick if I wanted to be unnoticed by those in power. Interesting.” 

He paused as the barkeep brought over three cups, clean and made of real glass, and a bottle filled with amber liquid, waiting until the liquor was poured before taking a sip. “Now, I’m an understanding man; business is business, after all. But my little issue is a simple enough proposition, maybe a half-day of work at the most, and, depending on the time table of this other mystery patron, I’ll sure we can come to an agreement. Mitigation has already been put in place to contain the creature and, while temporary, it’s more beneficial to capture it, so I’m willing to wait a day or two. Assuming you’re interested.” 

“Depends upon the details.” Natasha always took the lead in negotiations; men often underestimated her and she made that work for them. “Are we talking small, medium, or large? Claws and teeth? Poison? On land or in water? Our price structure is commensurate to the risk.” 

“Indeed.” Fisk liked that, the specificity and no-nonsense tone; Natasha had read him perfectly. “Larger than human but not dragon-size. Brute strength with fists. On land. No poison as far as I can tell; its preferred means of killing is tearing people in half.” 

“Where?” Natasha leaned the slightest bit forward, just enough interest to placate Fisk’s ego but not too much to seem desperate. “Two or four-legged?” 

“The marshes near the river, about an hour’s ride south. Witnesses said it walked upright …” Fisk paused to take another sip, “... and was green.”

“Ah.” Natasha sat back, resting one hand on the table as she took a long swallow. 

That was Clint’s clue and he knew exactly how to play this. “Gamlogh. Loves the wet and can be very territorial. But we’re a little far north for them; frost makes ‘em hibernate.” 

“Sluggish and easy to kill in deep winter.” 

“Could be an ogre; big and green and love swamps, but they don’t usually leave enough to identify the body,” Clint continued. 

“True,” Natasha replied. 

“Might be a gnaverin, if the water’s deep enough and it’s downstream from the city.” Clint warmed to his topic. “Nasty buggers; fronds adhere to the victim’s skin, can pull them apart.” 

“Don’t they drown them first?” Natasha asked. 

Clint nodded. “Then feed on ‘em piece by piece. That’s an ugly mess to stumble on.” 

“I see you know your business,” Fisk injected. Amusement colored his words, exactly what they wanted to hear. 

“Of course, those are the easy answers.” Clint scratched Lucky’s head. “Could be another new hybrid like those drakuars up in the Keilnaria Mountains or that Bó Nathir.” 

“Snake cow? That’s what you’re calling it?” Natasha chuckled. 

“Better than Milk Fangs,” Clint countered. Fisk’s tiny flinch of his eye told him it was time to put an end to the banter. “But we’re probably dealing with something simple in this case; If we could talk to a witness, that would help.” 

“That can be arranged,” Fiske nodded. “I assume capture is more than removal? That would be my preferred outcome.” 

“It’s 20 silver and a standard contract for unexpected danger and use of force prior to a full assessment.” Natasha always talked about money. “Once we know what we’re looking at, we can give you an estimate for dead or alive; you’re free to decide if we proceed.” 

“More than acceptable. If you decide to take the job, stop by my place of business tomorrow and I’ll have my man give you the details. If you decline, send a note so I can move on to other options.” Fisk rose from his seat.

“We will,” Natasha promised. 

The whole inn sighed in relief as Fisk left; his presence had driven back the warmth of the meager fire. Silence reigned for a moment or two then muttered conversation sprang up from the tables. Word would soon be flying through the town’s criminal element about the Kingpin and his meeting with two wilde hunters. 

“Probably not a gnaverin,” Clint tossed out; this was neither the time nor place for a private discussion. “We crossed the river, what, five miles south and it wasn’t deep enough for the right kind of wetlands.” 

“My money’s on an ogre,” Natasha said after another swallow of the good liquor. “The Gidran Army has driven them out of the swamps in Spandia; probably one went to ground here.” 

“Could be; ogres hate change. It will be royally pissed off if that’s the case. Trapping it might be nigh on impossible.” 

“And expensive,” Natasha agreed. Thinking about pouches of coins always made her happy; their nest egg was enough for a bad season, but Natasha had dreams for a place of their own. If this job worked out with Fisk, they might find more business funneled their way. They were both growing older and a home base would be a welcome way to spend the winter months.

The door opened and a man entered, dark green hood pulled up over his head, cloak tightly wrapped around his slim frame. As he turned his head, the light caught on the clear glass in the metal frames that perched on his nose; his brown eyes darted about the room before alighting on Natasha’s hair. With quick steps, he crossed to their table and took the chair left vacant from Fisk, pushing the hood back to reveal a mop of unruly brown curls. 

“Thanks for meeting me so quickly,” he said, pitching his voice low enough that Clint had to lean in to hear. 

Up close, Clint could see the worn collar of the man’s broadcloth jacket and frayed cuffs of an off-white shirt. He smelled ever so faintly of sulfur and turpentine; his fingers were stained with black and blue, ink-soaked spots of skin. A scholar or an alchemist, Clint guessed, and that fact recalibrated his expectations. 

“Of course,” Natasha answered. The man’s hesitancy needed a gentle touch. “Would you like a drink before you begin?” 

His eyes shot to the bar then back to their cups. “No, that’s not … no, thank you. I don’t …” 

“Breathe.” Natasha started to lay her hand on his, a comforting gesture, but he jerked back. 

“Please don’t.” His voice dropped and Clint could have sworn his eyes flashed. Sensing the tension, Lucky shifted under the table to sit at the man’s feet, whined, then nudged the man’s thigh with his nose.

“Sorry,” Clint said. “He’s an attention hound. Thinks everyone exists to pet him. Worst guard dog ever.” 

“No, that’s fine.” The man turned his hand palm up and laid it on his leg; Lucky licked the fingers then laid his chin on it, begging for scratches. “Animals, I understand. It’s people I don’t trust.” 

“Yeah, I get that.” Clint opened the flap of his pouch; Kodo’s face appeared first then Podo. “They follow their nature. Eat, sleep, have sex, play. If they kill, it’s to eat or protect themselves. Nothing complex about it.” 

“Are those …?” The man leaned forward as Clint scooped Kodo up, long body dangling from his hand. 

“Grand Range ferrets.” Clint offered; the man nodded. Kodo scampered across Lucky’s head and up the man’s arm to curl around his neck, little paws patting at his jawline.

“They’re supposedly the smartest of their genus.” The man’s eyes sparkled as he watched Kodo chatter to Podo. 

“They’re little shits.” Clint winced as Podo’s claws sunk a little too deep as he climbed up Clint’s arm. “But I never worry about snakes in my bedroll or rats getting into my pack.” 

“You love them.” The man smiled, face transformed; he was quite handsome when he looked up and didn’t try to hide. “It’s a great feat to train them, from what I’ve read. They pick their masters rather than the other way around.”

“These two have been with me since they were pups.” Clint rubbed his face in Podo’s fur. “Pretty sure they trained me. I’m Clint, by the way, Clint Barton, and this is my partner, Natasha Romanova.” 

“Bruce Banner.” He offered his hand; when Natasha took it, Kodo clambered down and across, ducking under her braid. “Oh, did I do something wrong?” 

“No, if she’s awake, she’s moving; never stays in one place long if she can. Now her brother on the other hand,” Clint waved at the ferret who had taken up residence in his shirt, all but his nose and whiskers hidden. “He’s the lazy one. He’ll find a hiding place and stay all day.” 

“And they know you. Most creatures are wary of new humans; the unknown can be dangerous.” Bruce stroked Lucky’s fur. “I’m sorry for overreacting earlier. It’s just … trust doesn’t come easily to me either.”

“Take your time,” Natasha counseled. “Why don’t you start by telling me what the job is?” 

“Right, the job.” He nodded to bolster his courage; Lucky snuggled closer and Banner smiled down at the dog. “It’s fairly simple; there’s a package I need retrieved and returned to me. Two days of travel there, two more back. I’m willing to pay your daily rate plus a bonus if you’re back within the week.” 

Natasha and Clint shared a look; it couldn’t be that easy or he wouldn’t be sitting at the table. Four days travel, a pick-up, but back by the end of the week? Something didn’t add up. 

“And for that you need us?” Natasha’s question was kind but pointed. “There are couriers who would cost far less.” 

“The package isn’t illegal,” Banner rushed to get out. “Perfectly above board; it’s the location that’s the issue. My contact is in Providence.” 

“Ah.” Clint sat back as the import sank in. 

Providence was a small town at the base of Walter’s Peak, a place with hunting lodges for the nobles and a thriving syrup trade. The sweet sticky stuff came from local trees and was a delicacy in the southern reaches. Clint had never been there but heard they stored barrels of it in cool caves under the mountain where salt grew on the walls and that an underground river supplied the town an endless supply of clean water.

The problem wasn’t Providence; it was the swath of countryside between here and there that was filled with Gidra Legions, dug in and entrenched around the Holy City of Triskelia. The siege had been going on for nine months, Triskelia withstanding the daily barrage of trebuchet missiles and attempts to find a weak spot in their walls. From the front line to the officers' tents was a half day’s ride; going around would add a day each way and, even then, there would be sentries to avoid and supply routes to cross. 

And Gidrans were not kind to those who wandered into what they considered their territory; they were ten times worse than a pissed off ogre. 

“The thing is, the package is time-sensitive and, well, …” Banner paused, but Natasha finished the thought. 

“It’s valuable and something you don’t want the Gidrans to know about.” 

“It’s …” Banner started. 

“Don’t.” Clint cut him off. “Not until we accept the job.” 

For a second, it was there again, the flash; Lucky wiggled closer as Banner closed his mouth, drew a long shaky breath then continued. “I’m really not used to this.” 

“Talking to people instead of reading books? Yeah, we got that,” Clint teased, keeping his tone light. “Look, give us two silvers now and we’ll call it a temporary contract, shake on it. Then we’ll tell you if we’re going to take the job tomorrow, talk price in full.” 

“Temporary .. oh.” Banner dug out the coins from an inner vest pocket; Podo snatched them from his fingers before they touched the table. “He’s a little thief, isn’t he?” 

“Best in the business.” Clint patted his pocket and Podo slipped them in. “And all I need to do is feed him and let him climb me like a tree to make him happy.” 

The door opened; four men came in, rough hands and loud laughter; Banner shrank in on himself as they filled the room, taking a close table. 

“I should …” He drew up his hood; Lucky sighed as he removed his hand. “You can find me on Culver Street, above the Green Door Apothecary. Morning is best; I have … responsibilities in the afternoon.” 

“Take a left,” Natasha said. “And cut through the fish market. Ships are coming in; lots of traffic right now.” 

He nodded before weaving his way to the exit. 

“Well, this is an interesting day.” She finished off her drink and dropped some coins on the table. “I’m hungry; let’s get some food.” 

“Ooo, can we stop at that noodle shop we saw? I’m in the mood for something so spicy it makes my nose run.” Clint donned his coat after the two ferrets were back in their pouch. “And then the butcher shop for scraps.” 

Their inn was in a different part of town; the roads were cleaner but narrow, the houses and shops neat but small. The street held two cloth merchants, a notions dealer, a butcher next to a bakery, and a tiny grocer. Even the entrance to the inn was squeezed between two buildings, little more than an alley; it opened into a courtyard framed by the three-story structure, greenery growing up the stone walls. They’d found it a few years ago when the owner, Jasper Sitwell, had a pixie infestation in his wine cellar; Clint and Natasha had relocated them to a corner of a citizen’s park where rose bushes needed tending, and they'd been coming back for Jasper's hospitality ever since. 

“I see you found Hazeem’s,” Jasper said as they entered. “Best in the city, mark my words. I’ll send Ava up with a pitcher of milk; you'll need it.” 

The common room was full of locals with cups full of ale, plates of rich roast stew, and baskets of dark brown bread. Early yet, the music would start later; Sitwell always had a bard in residence, a journeyman playing as part of their first town position. The Guild appreciated that he paid them and gave them a room over the stables. In all, Sitwell ran a tight establishment with simple but good food, popular entertainment, and excellent customer service. 

“Thanks,” Clint said as they crossed to the stairs. “It smells delicious; can’t wait to burn my tongue.” 

They always took the double attic room, two small beds under the eaves, the main chimney running along the north side, keeping the space warm in the winter. A double window opened to a view of the rooftops; Clint popped the latch as soon as they were inside, throwing it wide. Tossing his coat over the chair, he set the pouch on the bed; the two ferrets tumbled out and made a beeline for the bag in Clint’s hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re always starving.” He took a tin plate from his travel pack, filled it with chunks of meat and put it on the floor near the chimney. Kodo and Podo ran to start eating. For Lucky, he drew out a bone with meaty bits and passed it over; disappearing beneath the bed, Lucky began working on his dinner. 

A flutter of wings preceded the arrival of a hawk on the windowsill. It stretched its wings then folded them in, squawking in short bursts. 

“Of course I brought you some.” Clint emptied the last of the bag onto the sill. 

“Spoiled, the whole lot. How many mice have you eaten today, Bernard? And yet here you are, wolfing down more,” Natasha groused. The bird of prey turned its head, dark eyes staring at her. “Don’t give me that look. Your stomach is bottomless.” 

“Ignore her. She’s jealous of your red feathers.” Clint stroked the bird’s head. “You’ve been busy checking out the city; you deserve a treat.” 

“Eat your noodles before they get cold.” Natasha handed him a bowl. “You can pamper them later. Feed yourself first.”

“Okay.” Clint dropped cross-legged on his bed. “So, what are your thoughts about the two jobs? Fisk I expect hasn’t told us more than a teaspoon of the story but Banner’s hiding things too. You felt it too, right? Something odd about Banner?” 

“I imagine Fisk plans to capture the creature and sell it on the collector’s market.” She grimaced; Clint was well acquainted with her feelings about people who wanted to own what they considered monsters. There were plenty who would put both of them in that same category; even with fangs and a nasty attitude, creatures didn’t deserve to be caged or, worse, experimented on. “Too bad we won’t be able to do that.” 

“Bet you that marsh is a drop-off point for something illegal and the attacks have been happening for a while. Probably thought it was a rival syndicate at first.” Clint caught a bit of pork between his two delicate wooden chopsticks and waved at the ferrets. They’d climbed up on the wrought iron bed frame and were waiting patiently for a sign to come closer. At Clint’s motion, they darted to him, paws on his thigh; Kodo stretched up and took the morsel while Clint grabbed another for Podo. 

“Don’t you dare feed him anything spicy,” Natasha warned as Lucky whined; the dog was sitting at attention on the floor, eyes following Clint’s every move. “I’m not cleaning up after him all night.” 

“She’s right, boy,” Clint told the dog. “It’s not good for you. Go beg for some of Auntie Nat’s; she’s got roast hen.” 

Lucky dashed over as soon as Natasha pulled a bite and held it out. She was as smitten with the furry and feathered members of their family as much as Clint was, despite what she might say. 

“Rumors are there’s a new drug for sale in the city. Vivid dreams, some portends, a rash of sleepwalking, and a few people getting violent when someone tries to wake them.” She patted the bed and Lucky was soon curled up by her, head in her lap. “They’re calling it Svarog because the users say they went to a different world.” 

“Sounds like something the Kingpin would be involved in. And Banner’s a scientist?” Clint didn’t believe in coincidences, especially not for them. Fate was a right royal bitch who had long ago decided on a path strewn with complications for Clint and Natasha. Half the time, he survived just to spite her. 

“I need to spin and see what the web reveals. I suspect it's all related.” 

“I’ll visit the stables, see the horses have been groomed well,” Clint agreed. “I can order a bath when I come back up.” 

They finished their meals in silence; Natasha needed to begin calming her mind and the routine of rinsing the bowls and stowing gear was soothing. Clint watched as she settled on the floor, hands palms up on her knees; he’d stay until she was ready, make sure nothing interfered. This was the most tenuous time; opening her mind, she was vulnerable to other magics. Once she was in the web, she’d be protected, but for now, Clint and the animals were her eyes and ears. Lucky took his guard post by the door, Bernard stretched his wings and turned to his eyes to the outside. The ferrets jumped on the beds, one on each, closing the sides of the square with her inside. They didn’t like this part, the calling, but they held themselves still as the first spider dropped from the rafters on a thin thread, a tiny black one that landed on Natasha’s palm. A second followed then a third; one was bigger but still small. By the time eight had answered, four per hand, Natasha’s breathing was slow and even, eyes closed to all but the story the thread was going to tell. 

Once when they’d been far south, on an isle in the Taerul Sea, a spider as big as Clint’s chest had appeared; he’d almost shit himself as the thing climbed into her lap like a medium-sized dog. But that was rare; tonight’s range of size was on the smaller end. As the first silken thread connected between her fingers, Clint slipped out of the room. Anything that dared disturb her now would feel the lash of a reditch’s magic; it was safe to leave. 

The first time he’d watched her spin thread, he’d been all too happy to leave her be. As much as he loved animals, her eight-legged sisters weren’t his favorite of the crawling class. He’d come to appreciate their industry and hardiness, but back then he’d been ignorant of what they were capable of. It was an important lesson, one of the many Natasha had taught him. 

“Hey there,” he called as he entered the stable. A palomino pony huffed in reply, nipping at the apple Clint held out. “See, I didn’t forget.” 

The horse nudged him in the shoulder and sniffed his vest. 

“No, that one’s for Yelena.” Clint moved to the next stall; a beautiful silvery grey Arabian daintily took the offering. “Hey, girl. Are they treating you well? You’re looking gorgeous as always.”

Yelena's head went up and she stepped back to give Clint the full view. 

“Yeah, I can see that. The kid was thorough; got a nice shine to the coat.” 

The pony whinnied; Clint stroked Yelenna’s nose and leaned in to plant a kiss. “Arrow’s got no patience, but you know that, eh?” 

An onlooker might swear the horse nodded in response. 

“Smart girl.” He gave her one more pat before he moved back to Arrow. “And you, I know you like nice clean hay and warm stables, so stop your complaining.” With a neigh, Arrow rubbed his head against Clint. “Yes, I love you, too … but I don’t have any more.” 

“He’s already had three,” the stable boy came through the door. “Old Toby gave ‘em one, then that tinker from Freslan, and you.” 

“Oh, ho, trying to pull one over on me, are you?” Clint ran a hand through the horse’s mane. “You’ll be jolly and fat if left to your own devices, my boy. We’ll have to go for a gallop soon.” 

“He’s a feisty one,” he said. “Got opinions about everything.” 

Clint eyed the boy; no more than ten, he had dark brown eyes in a too-thin face, his skin the color of caramel. In his simple dungarees and linen shirt, he looked exactly like other stable hands … but wilde came in all shapes and sizes, some easier to pass in society than others. 

“That he does,” Clint agreed. “He thinks he’s the brains of the operation but he’s not. Need you to keep an eye on him for me, make sure he behaves.” 

Arrow whinnied; Clint winked at the horse. 

“Yes, sir,” the boy promised. 

He swung by the privy before stopping to ask for hot water and a copper tub. By the time he got to the room, Natasha was stirring, gently removing the clinging webs. She rolled them into a ball; a red glow suffused the thread as she held it between her fingers. 

“Arrow’s making friends,” Clint told her. “The kid in the stable is talking to him.” 

Her eyebrow rose; she understood what he meant. “He does like attention.” Gently, she placed the little light on the one small table then rose to stand and stretch. “Did you …” 

“Bath is ordered,” he replied. “Any insights?” 

“The signs were … disordered. The threads diverged, were confusing.” She pulled a bar of soap and a set of clean clothes from her pack. “Spinning off in multiple directions.” 

“Too early to know?” Clint asked. 

She shook her head. “Oh, the path has been set, but it forks then forks again. The web was clear about one thing: the jobs are related. If we take one, we’re taking the other.” 

  
  
  
  



	3. Messages and Contracts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With two jobs on tap, Clint and Natasha set out on their adventure with an extra traveler in tow.

_“To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect”_

“I must say I’m surprised to see you; from what Fisk said, I expected a note of regret.” Fisk’s man had met them at the door of the unassuming building. Lanky with neatly trimmed dark hair, he wore merchant class clothes, nice but not expensive, tailored and well-fitted. He’d introduced himself as Wesley and brought them to a moderately sized office with a window that overlooked a small piazza and fountain. “Of course, we’re thrilled you’re interested in our little problem; we take seriously the deaths of our employees and want to provide a safe working environment.” 

That he said it with a sincere smile made Clint want to recoil but he kept his face impassive as the man went on talking. 

“Let me get you the name of the witness and your investigation deposit and then I’ll be glad to answer any questions.” He pulled a pouch from the top drawer and counted out twenty silver coins. “I also have a map of the location with directions.” 

“But you thought we weren’t coming?” Natasha remained standing despite Wesley’s gesture for them to sit. He didn’t seem bothered by the action. 

“Fisk pays me to be prepared for every contingency,” Wesley said. “There was a 37.2% chance you would take the job, so I put together the information …” He pushed aside some rolls of parchment and pulled out a square of vellum. “Ah, yes, here it is. I’ve written the witness’s name and address on the bottom here; the seal in the corner will verify that you are in Fisk’s employ. Feel free to show it if anyone gives you trouble. I have alerted the witness you might stop by; she will make herself available at any time.” 

Not that the witness had any choice, Clint expected; the way Wesley blithely tossed around Fisk’s power left no doubt the reactions others would have to the seal. Fisk’s name, it seemed, opened lots of doors. 

“Your boss does understand that there’s no guarantee we’ll take the job?” Natasha took the coins and passed the map to Clint. “Or that we’ll be able to bring this thing in alive?”

“He does. The odds of a successful capture is below 50%; it’s much more likely you’ll have to kill it. While that’s not ideal, it is a pragmatic solution to the problem we’ll be satisfied with. We also understand if you choose to pass. Your expert opinion is valuable in and of itself.” He dropped into a squat, bringing himself eye level with Lucky. “And I am happy to meet this handsome creature.” He held out a closed fist, palm down, with plenty of space between him and the dog. “May I?” 

“It’s up to him,” Clint explained. “He’s a better judge of character than most people.” 

“So true, isn’t it?” Wesley waited as Lucky looked him over. “Animals are so much more perceptive.” 

With a tentative lick of fingers, Lucky proceeded to bump against the fist; Wesley opened his fingers and in a few seconds was scratching under Lucky’s chin. An interesting dimension to the man, Clint thought, as Lucky began to wag his tail at the attention. 

“Perhaps we might discuss it more,” Wesley looked up at Clint, “over dinner? When you are next in town?” 

“Ah … what?” Clint blinked in surprise. “Dinner? To talk?” 

Wesley stood. “There is a lovely little Baffish place by the Dukery. Excellent croquetas.”

“I .. um … I.” Clint’s words stumbled over his tongue, colliding together in the front of his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, saying no will not affect our working relationship. I wouldn’t allow it to.” Wesley gave a half-smile. “My request was obviously unexpected.” 

“Usually people go for Natasha, not me,” Clint managed to explain. 

“I can certainly see why.” He glanced at Natasha and inclined his head. “But I happen to like men with some mileage and a story to tell. Youth is appealing but leaves little to talk about in bed.” 

“Mileage. Yeah, that’s me” Clint chuckled. “Look, I’m flattered it’s just that when we come back from a job, I’m not usually in shape to go out …” 

“He gets beat up a lot,” Natasha added. 

“Plus we rarely stay anywhere for long …” Clint continued, giving her a look. “Can I say maybe?” 

“We’ll leave the option on the table then.” He held his hand out, the same one was petting Lucky with a few moments before. “I look forward to working with you, whatever you decide.” 

His palm was warm against Clint’s as they shook. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Natasha waited until they were out of the building and around the corner before she began laughing. “Goddess above, that was a treat.” 

“Nat, please.” Clint stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather pants. “It’s embarrassing enough.” 

“He was interesting, wasn’t he?” She was going to use this to poke at Clint for days. “No wonder Fisk runs such a successful venture; I imagine Wesley’s oversight is a large part of the reason why.” 

“I bet he orders assassinations in the same language. A problem to be successfully handled within an acceptable percentage.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Not my kind of guy.” 

“He might be too much like you for it to work.” She tugged his jacket, turning left into a smaller alley. “He likes dogs; you like dogs. He knows the odds; you like to challenge them. ” 

“Pretty sure working for a guy who kills and hurts innocent people cuts him from the list of potential lovers.” As soon as he said, Clint knew what she’d come back with. “Yes, I made a mistake with Rumlow which is how I know it’s a bad idea.” Natasha only hummed in response. “No more bad boys for me; only nice guys, one night at a time.” That got him a raised eyebrow. “Don’t make me bring up your bad choices. I will.” 

“There’s a leather goods shop just around the corner.” She changed the subject. “The fletcher is two doors down. Meet me at that nice tack store when you’re done.” 

Feeling like he’d won the first skirmish, Clint took his half of the coin and gave Natasha the rest. They’d agreed earlier on a meandering path towards Banner’s location; provisions needed stocking and this was as good a time as any. There was no way Fisk didn’t already know who they’d met after him; he probably knew the full conversation and the details Banner had given them. Rather than try and hide their moves, they elected to be obvious in the hope that a scientist’s errand wouldn’t be worth notice. Now, having met Wesley, Clint was sure he already knew the breadth and width of Banner’s life and had weighed the possibilities; the warm welcome they’d received niggled at Clint, raising questions he didn’t have answers to … not yet anyway. 

So he bought some resin and hardhorn shafts at the fletchers, adding rough broadheads forms and thin wire to build some judo heads. He made his own blunts, so he passed those by along with the targets, but picked up string wax and a six-pack of bodkins, well-designed and smooth. He haggled the proprietor down to a manageable price and left with enough in his pocket for the rest of his list. 

Arrow’s harness had some thinning spots; he found some cured leather and a supple kit at the tack shop. From there, he and Natasha wandered through the market, buying foodstuffs for the journey. Jasper had pointed them towards a stall with hardtack and flavored jerky; Clint added a few of the spicy pieces along with the saltier meat strips. He needed a new water sack; the last one had been sacrificed to burn a particularly mean dracotalpa out of its den. At a wine merchant a few streets over, he let Natasha pick two varietals; he couldn’t tell the difference between a royal vineyard cab and a ten-day fermented merlot. Given a choice, he’d take the house tap and be happy with it. 

Only after that did they come to the Green Door Apothecary. Near the Healer’s House and a few streets over from the Academy of Learning, it nestled between a printer’s shop and store that offered teas and coffees from exotic locations. A quiet neighborhood, even at the height of morning, the sun not yet directly overhead, the people on the street with book-filled bags hung across the shoulders. A bell tinkled as they entered the shop; on their left, a bank of shelves held neatly organized bins and boxes of various roots and herbs with little pouches available to scoop and pack what the customer might need. Further in were rocks and minerals across from oils and tinctures. A whole display of premade lotions and salves filled the front window display. At the back, a whitewashed wooden counter was manned by a dark-haired woman, her brown jacket covered with a canvas apron. She looked up from the man and woman she was serving and smiled as they came in. 

“Welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment. Feel free to browse or help yourself if you know what you want,” she called. A small woman, she bustled with energy as she moved back and forth, 

The taller of the two customers glanced over her shoulder; a sneer turned her lips down, judgment clear in her eyes. Her clothes spoke of money and the nicer parts of town where people could pretend monsters didn’t exist and that the poor were just lazy and looking for an excuse to get out of work. She huffed when she saw Lucky, wrinkled her nose, and purposefully turned her back. 

“Are you sure this is the best red ginseng you have? I’ve heard the highest quality comes from Panax; local growth is too bushy,” the man insisted. “I’m willing to pay for the top of the line.” 

Clint kept his face impassive despite the urge to laugh. Panax ginseng was a notorious scam, a name that con artists used to sell their knockoff potions and remedies. Someone had sold the man a bill of goods to fix his inability to get it up. 

“Ginseng is best when freshly picked and ground,” the proprietor explained in a far more patient voice than Clint could have mustered. “The longer it sits on the shelf, the less the potency. I know this local grower personally; I can attest they used the finest seeds from Klaxoa. It’s only two days old.” 

Natasha nudged him as she headed for the oils. “Get us some aloe slices and yarrow root,” she said. “And some turmeric and arnica.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in response, sauntering to the herbs. The boxes were alphabetized so he got to work, using the little scale provided to weigh each as he measured it out in small spoons. Fair prices marked on each, self-service … he liked the way the place was laid out and the ease of filling his order. 

The two continued to monopolize the woman with requests for rare items; they’d look then hand them back, clearly not interested. Circling, that’s what they were doing; they wanted something but didn’t want to come out and ask. Clint listened with half an ear as he put his four pouches with the three vials Natasha had collected. He got sidetracked by shampoos and soaps made specifically for animals; Lucky bounced excitedly when he got a whiff of one of the bars and the ferrets stuck their noses out to have their look-see. The cost wasn’t much, so Clint slipped the one they all three liked with the rest of their purchases; it claimed to remove even the harshest smells from fur, although Clint doubted the maker had the stink of dead lurgs in mind. 

“... with dreams,” the female customer was saying, dropping her voice and leaning across the counters. “I’ve been having the worst ones of late and my friend, Senra TeaMar, said you had something that calmed the brain.” 

“Ah, yes, Senra is one of my best customers. I made her a simple tincture of ashwagandha, lavender, and goji berries.” The proprietor moved around the counter and opened a door in a back cabinet. “Steep with honey and warm milk; drink before you go to bed. Makes for a good night’s sleep.” She took out a tin and opened it for the woman to smell. Clint caught the fruity scent; Lucky’s nose went up and his head whipped around to the source. 

“She mentioned it had a special ingredient? That it was one-of-a-kind?” the customer asked. 

“There are a few more things in the mix, yes, but nothing dangerous. It’s my blend and very effective.” She turned the tin so the woman could see the price; no bragging just a simple statement of fact. “I make it by hand here in the store.” 

“Yes, I see.” The answer pleased the customer. “I suppose it won’t hurt to try it.” 

“It builds upon itself.” Filling a small pouch, she put the lid back on and stowed it away. “This is a week’s worth; you should notice a real difference by night four or five.” 

“You have a return policy, I assume? To pay this much for tea, I expect it to work.” 

“A fortnight on personal mixtures, fifty percent.” She dropped the pouch on the counter. “For individual ingredients, six days if you find mold or rot. Will you be taking these others as well? I can offer a discount for all three …” 

Clint tuned out as they started haggling; rich or poor, no one paid full price. The final total was respectable on both sides; the proprietor certainly knew what she was doing. After the customers left with one last disapproving glance at Clint and Natasha, the woman turned their way. 

“Give me a moment and I’ll call Bruce. He wasn’t sure you’d come, but I knew you would. He’s flustered; this morning’s message has him changing his plans.” She stuck her head through the curtained doorway to the back and called Banner’s name. “While he gets ready, I’ll gather up anything else you need. We have an excellent scent suppressor that will be useful.” 

Rattling off the remaining items on their list, Natasha asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have any chilblain ointment? The last we bought was practically useless.” 

“Probably used gypsum instead of limestone; wood is cheaper and easier to obtain.” She opened a different cabinet and collected four tins and a small round pot that fit in her palm. “Apply a thin coating of this on the affected area for seven days and it will clear right up.” 

Opening it, Natasha sniffed. “Smells ...warm?” 

“A touch of Blythan rose; the scent is important to healing too,” she said. “Each mixture has a unique personality …” 

“Betty! Do you know where my second pair of woolens are? I can’t find them.” Banner stuck his head through the curtain. “I checked the drawers and the chest.” 

“In the drying closet,” she told him. “Don’t forget your extra spectacles; they're old but they’ll do in a pinch.” 

“They’re packed.” Banner seemed to see them for the first time. “Oh, hello, come on back; I’ve made tea and there are biscuits. We can talk.” 

The room behind was both work area and storage space; a set of stairs were tucked in the far corner, a traveling pack settled on the second from the bottom, filled to overflowing. Banner trundled to a cabinet; inside were rows of herbs, neatly grouped and tied, hung from strings. From a lower line, he extricated a pair of leggings, folded them haphazardly, and tucked them into the pack. 

“We’ll need to swing by the stable,” he said, pulling out two cups and a sugar bowl. “I’m a fair horseman, but it’s been a while.” He took the pot from the hook over the small fireplace and poured. “Shouldn’t slow us down too much …” 

“You’re coming with us?” Natasha cut to the point. “That wasn’t part of the deal.” 

“I know.” Banner sighed as he pushed a plate with some fresh biscuits and pieces of ham their way. “I’m not excited about it either, but it’s the only way.” 

“The message this morning,” Clint prompted. “Something’s happened.” 

“Yes.” Banner took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes; circles dark beneath them. “My contact says he’ll only deal with me directly, so I have to go.” 

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. “Did he give a reason?” 

“Just that I needed …” Banner blinked then focused. “You think he’s … no. He wouldn’t.”

“If this package is important enough, he might,” Clint said. “Hells bells, it could be anything if there’s money in it.” 

“We’ve worked with him for years.” Betty came into the room. “It’s more likely he's trying to protect himself, make sure he’s really doing business with us. He’s a little eccentric, especially with new people.” 

“He could be in trouble; wouldn’t be the first time,” Banner added. “I know we didn’t talk about this …” 

“We’ll pay extra.” Betty took a pouch from her pocket. “A quarter more than the going rate for the pick-up.” 

“Betty, no.” Banner shook his head. “I don't want to touch that.” 

“I can’t think of a better use for Father’s guilt money, Bruce. He’d absolutely hate it if he knew.” She turned to Natasha. “What price did you quote Bruce?” 

Clint could tell by the way Natasha’s eyebrow twitched that she liked the woman and was going to make a good deal, one that would benefit them both. While they rarely traveled with others, they’d done enough guard duty to know how to secure one person on the road. Assuming Banner really could keep in his saddle, they could still make a decent time. They’d need more supplies with a third mouth to feed, but that could be arranged with the right amount of coin. While Natasha haggled, Clint helped himself to a biscuit and some ham, tearing bits of the meat for Lucky and the ferrets as Banner finished packing. 

“Oh, here. This is for them.” Banner passed along a small satchel; inside, Clint found a wax paper wrapped ham bone, a bag of brown pellets, an amphora of oil, and a jar of cream. “It’s going to be cold and rainy; the oil will protect their skin and the cream will make water roll off their fur better. The food’s a supplement to balance their diets. Good for dogs and ferrets.” 

“And birds?” Clint asked. “Feathers are different.” 

Banner’s eyes lit up. “Got just the thing for molt and broken feathers.”

In all, they left the city only a little later than they had planned. A tidy sum weighted Clint’s pouch, a nice way to start a job. They’d gotten half in advance and Natasha had wrangled a damn good total; wherever Betty’s money had come from didn’t matter, it would keep them going through another winter. While Banner had gotten his horse, Clint and Natasha stopped to interview the witness, a woman with golden skin and black hair, her muscular frame big enough to haul large crates. With rehearsed sentences, she spoke in vague terms about why she was at the river, but once she got to the part about the attack, she became more animated and descriptive; the creature had left a vivid memory. 

“Why are we going out of the South gate?” Banner asked as they passed under the open portcullis. “The shortest route would be the Mourner’s entrance.” 

“We’re making a quick stop,” Natasha explained. “Won’t take long.” 

He looked confused, but didn’t question Natasha; instead, he smiled at Lucky, riding in the basket Clint had tied just behind the saddle. The dog loved being up high, able to see where they were going. Then Clint held out his arm, his bird swooping in for a landing.

“Oh, a hawk!” Banner’s eyes lit up. “This must be who the feather cream is for.”

“This is Bernard. He thinks he’s the leader of any expedition.” Clint transferred Bernard to the hard leather perch on his saddle. “Don’t tell him he’s not; he gets angry and he pouts.” 

They continued along the well-worn road, Banner’s mare, a chestnut quarter horse named Caiera, kept pace with Lucky and Yelena, unfazed by the passing wagons and other traffic. They kept to the main road for a while before taking a secondary cut-off towards the river; they left the path, striking off towards their destination not far from the crossing. The wheel ruts weren’t hard to find, covered only by some fallen brush, little effort having been made to hide the passage of wagons. The ground grew softer the closer they came to the river’s edge, turning marshy, necessitating they slow their pace. 

“A smuggler’s inlet,” Banner said as the ruts turned parallel to the water. “Lots of them along this stretch of the bank; the crossing is as far as the city guard patrols. One of Fisk’s probably; the Chouhan tend to keep to the North.” 

“Really?” Natasha pulled her horse to a stop and dismounted. “Doubt we’ll run into any black market cargo at this time of day.” 

“No, but if you wanted to find some Cerulean tea or Kofta brandy, I could have shown you where in the city. Ever since the Duke’s Council levied the luxury tax, it’s easier to buy than before.” Banner took Clint’s reins when he joined Natasha on the ground. 

“Made a tidy business for Fisk and others, that’s all it that did,” Clint agreed. “Redistribution of wealth, wasn’t that the Duke’s argument? Make the rich pay for the upkeep of the city’s plumbing and streets?” 

“That was his explanation, but we all know it’s an effort to curry favor with the Gidrans, to cut business ties with those they’re at war with. Godric’s gillyweed gets a 20% markup but Salvin produced truffles don’t?” Banner shrugged. “Obvious.” 

“Obvious.” Natasha grinned at the man. “Blythan roses are on the no import list if I remember right.” 

“Thing about Fisk; he’s a criminal, for sure, but if he promises fresh Bythan rose petals, you get what you pay for. Expensive as hell, but the real stuff. His protection costs, but his men show up if you need them. More than I can say about the city guard.” Banner watched as Clint strung his bow. “So, I stay here and hold the horses while you do whatever it is you’re going to do?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Natasha replied, unsheathing her own sword. “Feel free to retreat to the road if anything happens; I doubt it will. This creature mostly comes out at night. Mostly. Plus, it’s been a good seven days since it was sighted. It may have gone to ground or moved on. Just keep a weather eye out for movement and get out of its way. If you’re not in its territory, it should leave you alone.” 

“Unless we rile it up.” Clint winked at him. “Then your best bet is to run.” 

He wasn’t truly worried about Banner; he and Natasha had captured enough monsters to handle what was probably one grumpy gamlogh if the witness' description was right. With a heft of his arm, he sent Bernard soaring, circling the area, sharp eyes on the lookout; two steps off the makeshift road and his boots sank into the muddy marsh, stagnant water stirring as he walked. Lucky jumped from one tuft of grass to the next, nose down, searching for scents. 

Natasha nodded towards a copse of bushes and half-fallen trees that fit the witness’ description of where they’d pulled the wagon. Gnats rose as they skirted around a rotting log; behind they found tamped down earth and a trail that led to the water’s edge. Numerous footprints were layered over the ground, an echo of going back and forth to unload the boat. 

“Lucky, here.” Clint dropped down to get a closer look at the elongated indentions. The dog ran his nose over the impression, gave a little shake of his head then stepped back, signaling he had a scent. “Four-toed, talons. Older than the rain five days ago.” 

“If it was hurt, it would burrow.” Natasha twirled her fingers through a bunch of holly branches; when she pulled back, a small grey spider ran over her knuckles. Bending her head, she whispered, the sounds soft and sibilant, sharp from the tip of her tongue, then she paused to listen. “Webs disrupted, animals displaced … this way.” 

A hawk’s cry and Clint closed his eyes, images filtering onto the back of his lids -- swooping down, skimming along the water surface, passing over a bramble, old logs, rocks, and mud. Back up, turning on the wingtip, gliding to a branch, looking down … Clint blinked away the vertigo of seeing himself from above. 

“There’s an old beaver warren, just past that stand of trees.” 

Clint slipped two arrows from his quiver and unwrapped the heads; he led the way, keeping his footfalls as light as possible and using the foilage for coverage. He found another print past a stand of boxwood shrubs; one sniff and Lucky circled Clint before slinking forward. Slowly, they advanced until they could see the bramble rising from the waters. 

“Be careful,” Clint warned as he let Kodo and Podo out of the pouch. “Stay out of its reach.” 

Kodo cast a baleful eye then scampered off, her brother on her heels. Up a tree, across a branch, jumping to another, they worked their way onto the top of the pile, poking their noses between the limbs. As they searched for a view of what was inside, Clint gave Lucky the signal to stay and guard then swung himself up on a different branch, finding a vantage point on the dark opening. Beneath him, Natasha began to weave her magic, drawing lines in the air, leaving lingering red shimmers in her wake.

“One at a time,” Clint hissed quietly as the two sent conflicting images, too many eyes for Clint to focus. When they settled, he saw a curled figure, green as moss, easily mistakable for the algae in the water around it. But three long fingers, sharp claws extended, left no doubt that the occupant was home. “Okay, get me a sightline.” Podo scampered along thick reed until he could curl himself on his hind legs and see straight into the den. 

“Almost …” Natasha tied the unseen thread off and flicked it away from her. The faintest netting of gossamer silk floated into place over the opening. “Ready when you are.” 

Notching the first arrow, Clint closed his eyes and aimed. “Soon as it hits, get the fuck out of there,” he ordered the ferrets. “After it’s caught, you can go in and look for shinies.” 

Clint took a breath. Just because he’d done this before and survived didn’t mean a thing; monsters were unpredictable and always a danger. With a slow exhale, he let the arrow fly; it hit and the gamlogh jerked up with a howl and began thrashing about, shaking the warren. 

“Hey, ugly!” Clint shouted. “Come on out and fight me.” 

It’s head whipped around, shaggy green strings of matted hair, black eyes narrowing in on the sound. Howl turned to roar as it scuttled through the opening … only to be caught in Natasha’s spell, threads closing around it. The more it struggled, the tighter the net became, trapping it inside. Clint waited until it stumbled and fell onto the bank then hit it with the second arrow, the head filled with a sleeping draught. For a few breaths more, it fought but then it slowed, eyes drooping, before it slipped into unconsciousness. 

Swinging down, Clint stopped a good foot away. “Wow, that’s a big one. Look at that arm span.” 

“Yellow spots on its paws.” Natasha circled the creature. “Haven’t seen jellymas on one this far North. The pain’s probably driving it mad. No coming back from that.” 

They communicated with a look; the gamlogh was already dying and couldn’t be left at large. 

“I’ll clean out the nest, make sure there’s nothing to draw another,” Clint said.

Podo climbed Clint’s leg, got in his face, and chittered at him. 

“Yes, I know, but I have to check it out first. Remember when that baby Meoba almost ate you because you didn’t wait?” Clint asked him. “Let me look.” 

The water came up to his knees as he waded to the den. In its haste to exit, the creature had knocked most of the top off, so Clint could see the scattered bones and half-eaten body parts. The stink of death wrinkled his nose; picking up the arrow shaft, he stirred the piles, checking for anything dangerous.

“Okay, see what you can find.” 

He laid out a square of wet skin, soft side up as the two ferrets darted past him. Kodo put the first bit of gold on it, a simple earring hoop, then Podo brought a silver ring. Coins joined the collection along with a small table knife and a matching fork. Anything of value, the twins would find; for their trouble, they got to pick little bits for their treasure hoard. The bottom of their pouch was lined with their favorite pretties. 

“I’ll pen the message.” Natasha nudged the creature one last time. “You sure it won’t wake until tomorrow?” 

“That should be right.” Clint signaled Lucky to go with Natasha. 

“Should be?” She sighed. “I’ll tell them to arrive today.” 

As they finished, Kodo picked a copper one cent for her prize; she loved anything round. Podo triumphantly held up a small piece of green glass; color was his favorite. 

“Is that sharp? Let me …” Clint reached down but Podo danced back. “If you cut your paw, I’ll have to bandage it.” He kept up a steady stream of complaint even as he let Clint take the bit; dirty but smooth, the glass was old enough to be worn down. “Good. Now let’s wash up, eh?” 

The small slivers of soap he kept wrapped in wax paper and tucked in the front pocket of their pouch. They each took one then took off running on short legs into the river, chortling with delight; they took great joy in playing with the soft cleanser between their paws and splashing in a shallow eddy. While they played, Clint rolled up the rest of their finds in the wet skin and tied it with leather strips to examine later. 

When they were done, Clint let them scamper up another tree and run along the branches. By the time Clint got back to the horses, Podo was perched on Banner’s saddle, gleefully showing off his new treasure, and Kodo was on Natasha’s shoulder, munching on a pellet. Lucky already had the bone in his mouth and was chewing contentedly as Natasha tied the message tube on Bernard’s leg. 

“Take this to Jasper,” Clint told the hawk. “Then meet us at Pittman’s Crossing.” 

The bird extended its wings and, with a jump, launched himself into the air, squawking in reply. 

“You’re a dreagst?” Banner asked as Clint secured his gear, putting the wet skin in a saddlebag. “That’s how you communicate with them.” 

Swinging up into the saddle, Clint whistled and Lucky jumped into his basket, bone held tight in his teeth. “Is that a problem?” 

“No,” Banner hurried to say. “Not at all. I’ve got no problem with wildes. Explains why you’re so good; I like to know why things are the way they are, that’s all.”

“Hold on to that one, would you?” Clint nodded to Podo who had curled himself around the pommel of Banner’s saddle. “He’s taken a shine to you.” 

“How good of a rider are you?” Natasha asked from astride Yelena. “If we set a pace we can be in Dangleman’s Moor by nightfall; there are some isolated spots we can use for camp.” 

“I’ll keep up,” Banner promised, stroking the ferret’s head. “But … the forest? Is that safe?”

“Less likely to run into Gidran patrols,” Clint explained. “They think it’s haunted so they avoid it.” 

Banner looked less than convinced. “And is it? Haunted?” 

“Ghosts are the least of our worries,” Natasha assured him. “It’s the creatures that live there who are most likely to kill us.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do so love the character of Wesley from season one of Netflix's Daredevil. There's something appealing about an organized and efficient henchman, is there not? 
> 
> A gamlogh is my own creation, sort of a cross between a scarecrow, a bullywog, and a skinny swamp thing. Low level, maybe a 2 or 3 in D&D parlance.


	4. Chapter #3: Crossings and Intersections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road, there's time for conversations about politics & religion ... plus meeting a new face.

_No good deed goes unpunished._

“It’s actually quite lovely here,” Banner said as he spread his bedroll under a set of drooping branches. “Very primeval. I bet there’s some fascinating plant life; I saw a patch of queensalum a ways back. Didn’t realize it grew wild near here.” 

As the day had worn on, Banner provided to be a good companion on the road. He wasn’t afraid of silence, comfortably letting time pass without comment. When he did talk, he didn’t ask probing questions, favoring observations and random tidbits of information. Despite the pace Natasha set, pushing them across the creek and into the forest, leaving the road and striking across country, Banner hadn’t complained. He might be limping a bit, but the salve he’d brought meant he’d be fine in the morning. 

“Very still and quiet,” he continued, opening the flap of his bag and rummaging through the contents. “From the stories, I thought it would be darker, feel more oppressive.” 

The ferrets ran Banner’s way, drawn by the lure of new things to play with as he laid out a rolled parchment, a book, and a wrapped parcel. Podo climbed onto Bruce’s shoulder; Kodo sat on her haunches and wiggled her nose, scenting each item as it emerged. 

“A lot is what you bring in with you; animals reflect your emotions. If you’re tense, they’re tense. Relax and they’re more likely to leave you alone,” Clint said from his spot by the horses. 

“They can sense your fear, huh?” Banner chuckled as Kodo tried to poke her nose into the parchment. “My mother always said I had to stop being afraid of the rooster, that he wouldn’t be such a little shit if I stayed calm.”

“No, roosters are terrors; once they decide they don’t like you, you can’t change that. But here? If you ride in with your weapons drawn, side-eyeing every bird and bush, they’ll be wary and react more violently to your presence,” Clint said. “You grew up on a farm?” 

“My parents were Steaders out west. We lived half-a-day from any other people and the nearest town was a two-day ride,” Banner replied. “That’s probably why I like living in a city so much.” 

Steaders were folks who struck out in uncharted territory to make a place for themselves. The reasons varied; some were zealots of their gods, others followers of the Mantic teachings -- Clint’s father had been a bastard who wanted ultimate control of his wife and children -- but whatever their beliefs, they lived isolated solitary lives. Being raised a steader explained a lot about Banner’s self-sufficiency. 

“I’m city born and bred.” Natasha started walking the perimeter. “But I can appreciate open spaces. Still, there’s nothing like a good tavern with a soft bed, good food, and dark ale.”

“And some lively music,” Banner agreed, smiling at her. “A nice way to spend an evening.”

The slight pinking of Banner’s cheeks didn’t go unnoticed; Clint raised an eyebrow Natasha’s way. She ignored him, so he started humming as he patted Arrow’s flank. 

“No singing,” Natasha said without looking his way. “That wasn’t an invitation.” 

“Aw, Nat, really?” Clint pretended to pout. “I bet Banner doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t,” Banner replied. “And please call me Bruce.” 

“Bruce.” Natasha tried the name on for size. “Clint knows full well we can’t risk the sound carrying; we’re a half a click away from the sentry line but that’s no guarantee they won’t extend their patrol. That’s why it’s so quiet; most of the creatures that live here have gone further in to avoid the humans who hunt them.” 

“The army’s cleared out most of the rabbit and deer population in a two click radius; we’ll have to make do with provisions tonight,” Clint said. “Best not to build a fire either.” 

Bruce picked up the biggest parcel and began to unwrap it. Inside were more of the delicious biscuits, ham slices, and some jam in a stoppered container. “Actually, I brought plenty, enough for tonight and tomorrow.” 

“Count me in.” Clint finished the last few strokes of currying Arrow’s coat. “Better tasting than the dried stuff and I don’t have to cook.” 

“Clint thinks a frying pan is for hitting people over the head,” Natasha answered. “And I’m not much better; burned a pot once trying to boil water.” 

“Hey, my roasted rabbit’s not bad and I can stir up a decent stew,” Clint objected. He gave each of the horses a final stroke before leaving them to munch on their feed. 

“Not sure potatoes. meat and a handful of herbs count as a stew, but it is filling and much better than I could do.” She had almost completed the circle; If Clint hadn’t known what to look for, he wouldn’t have seen the gossamer threads trailing behind her, catching on trees and bushes. An early warning system, the web would give them time to react to any unwelcome visitors. 

“I made these,” Bruce said, passing the food to Natasha. “I’m the cook in our household; nothing fancy but I do make a good steak and kidney pie with the biscuits. Betty tries but she’s better at other things.” 

“It does take a deft hand to create those mixtures,” Natasha said. 

“She’s brilliant. Could have been the best herbalist in the country if she’d finished her training,” Bruce said, warming to his subject. “We met at the collegium; she was already making her own healing salves. Half the professors were in awe of her talent; the others hated her out of jealousy. But then her mother grew ill … a wasting sickness … and she went home to take care of her. Almost two years, she nursed her, tried so many cures, finally settled on easing her pain near the end. She could have returned after, but her father, well, he spun into a dark place and she felt she had to stay, try to help him find his way back.”

“The father whose money you didn’t want to use?” Natasha split a biscuit, slathered on butter, and added a piece of ham. Her light and easy questions didn’t fool Clint; she was digging for information on their current employer. Now that Clint was watching for it, he could see the hint of interest in the way she leaned the slightest bit forward. 

“Her father …” Bruce sighed. “He wants her to marry well, even has a husband picked out for her, a man who owes him for his livelihood. The General thinks he can control them both that way, but Betty’s having none of it. She decided she wanted to open a shop and did it while he was busy with other things. Just announced it to him after she’d signed the lease and already moved out of his house. The money is her allowance; he’s convinced she’ll feel obligated if she takes it, but she laughs, uses it to pay bills. Kept the shop going that first year until she gathered a few regulars and started making a name for herself.” 

“Must be awkward if her father doesn’t want her with you.” Clint snatched a biscuit Natasha had already sliced open. “Puts a strain on the relationship.” 

“Relationship?” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, Betty and I aren’t … she’s not …”

“Clint, stop teasing him. Ignore him, Bruce. He spends too much time around animals and has forgotten how to behave with people.” 

“Animals are better than humans most of the time.” Clint tossed some ham to Lucky and tore pieces for Kodo and Podo. 

“That’s true,” Natasha agreed, turning her hand over so a small grey spider could climb up her arm. “They don’t kill you for being different; for food, to protect themselves, because you hurt them, sure, but not because they enjoy it.” 

Bruce swallowed a bite, his eyes following the little creature's progress along Natasha’s sleeve. “Betty’s afraid of spiders, always calls me to take care of them.”

“A lot of people kill them on sight,” Natasha said. 

“They’re just doing what’s in their nature,” Bruce replied. “They keep the flies out of the ointments and eat the gnats that plague the compost. I don’t tell her, but I scoop them up and put them out back near the bins.” 

A real smile curled at Natasha’s lips. “Now if we could do the same for each other, realize our worth and judge on that rather than fear and prejudice, it would be a better world.” 

Bernard swooped down, his wings stirring Clint’s hair as he settled on his shoulder. With a chuckle, Clint offered the bird some ham; he took it, ripping it with talons before eating. 

“Eat up, big guy. We’re going to put you to work tomorrow.” Clint gave him a second piece. 

“The middling road is the most dangerous. We need to find a place to cross with the least traffic and blocked sightlines,” Natasha said. “It’s flat most of the way.”

Bruce grabbed the parchment and unrolled it, weighing down the edges with small stones. The region spread across the map in black ink. “I was wondering about that. I’m not sure exactly where we are …” 

“We’re here.” Natasha pointed to a spot in the densely drawn trees, a thumb length from the road that bisected the forest. Then she tapped another. “I think we come out here, cross at the bridge, and go back in here; we can use the creek banks as cover if need be.”

“That’s a lot of time in the open,” Clint said, leaning over to get a better look. On the map, the forest receded, leaving grassy land on both sides of the road. “It’s the main supply route for Gidra wagons plus heavily traveled southern connector; no way we make it without being seen.” 

“Why not here?” Bruce asked, motioning to a spot where the road almost disappeared in the forest. 

“Ambush territory,” Clint said. “They dug through the hillside to make the road flat so it’s easy for brigands to lie in wait above. They’ll be watching that portion. And see this?” He pointed to the nearby forest. “That’s a bog and it’s home to some creatures who don’t like being disturbed by rumbling wagons or people riding through their homes.” 

Bruce looked up at him. “Glad I hired people who know the area; I’d have gone that way..” 

“Problem isn’t being seen, it’s who sees us. We time things right, we’ll cross without any issue.” She looked at the map again. “The only other option is a little further north but it takes us into the forest closer to the bogs for my comfort. From there, it’s a half day’s ride to the eastern road.”

She ran her finger to their destination. The trail took them through more forest, joining the main route well past where the army was camped. It also ran straight through a black area called The Vale of Valor and the Arnim Pass. 

“Um, isn’t that …” Bruce hesitated then stopped. “You know best.” 

“Not all the tales are true, Bruce,” Natasha said. “We’ll be fine.” 

“Not all,” Bruce repeated. “But some?” 

“Ghosts are the least of your worries,” Clint assured him. “It’s the monsters that you have to watch out for. Good thing you have the best hunters with you.” 

“That’s … comforting?” 

Natasha laughed. “Don’t worry, Bruce. We can handle it.” 

After they ate, Clint unrolled the wetskin and dumped the contents into a tin bowl; one by one, he washed the items and looked at them in the waning light. Mostly junk to be sold to a smelter by the ounce, he set aside the gold hoop, a handful of coins, and a small signet ring that was missing its stone. A pewter cloak clasp was etched with a knotted pattern; cleaned up, it would be a fair piece of work to sell. Two buckles and rings from a belt were intact; they went with the clasp. Broken glass pieces Clint piled together; sometimes artisans would buy them for mosaics if the colors were interesting or unique. 

Three items made him stop and examine them more closely. A short, squat glass vial, round bottom no bigger than the circumference of his thumb, with only a missing chip near the narrow neck opening, dyed a crimson red, a triple dot maker’s mark on one curve. A round of silver that fit in his palm with a stylized border and a simple chevron in the middle, battered and worn. And an earring with a small clear hanging gem.

“Nat?” He handed the crystalline drop to her. “Yea or nay?” 

She held it up, turning one way then the other. “If it’s fake, it’s good quality, enough to sell. Too dark to tell more. The other stuff?” 

“Looks like a commemorative coin or amulet, but I don’t recognize the mark.” He gave her the silver round. 

“Pilgrim’s badge,” Bruce said. “From the shrine of Ygritte in the Larkston Mountain. Tough journey, but I hear the views are amazing and they let you soak in the sulfur hot springs.”

“So not worth much?” Clint rolled it between his fingers; Kodo stood up on her hind legs, fascinated by the movement. 

“A collector might be interested if it’s one of the rarer designs. They print them for special occasions like the equinox or Ygritte’s death day celebration,” Bruce said. “Or it could be bespelled. Plenty of mages willing to add a warmth charm to the goddess of winter’s badge.” 

Clint slipped it in his inner pocket. “That would be handy.” 

“That,” Bruce said, pointing to the vial, “is a single draught amphora. Do you mind if I …” 

“Be my guest.” Clint passed it over. 

“Most often used for dosing oils and liquids.” Bruce sniffed the opening, looked at the mark, turned it over, and stared at the bottom. “I don’t recognize maker’s sign, but healing houses would use something like it. This is quality workmanship, probably made for a rich patron who needed to carry small portions with them. Been in the water too long to tell what was in it.” 

“Huh.” Clint took it back. “Medicine then? Something they’d take every day.” 

“Or drugs,” Natasha said. “See how the first dot isn’t in line with the other two? I’ve seen that before; it’s the letter S.”

“Svarog?” Bruce asked. “That’s a nasty bit of poison; it messes with people’s minds and is highly addictive. The pure form is expensive and even worse than the street version.” He paused. “You think that’s what Fisk was bringing in via the river? I heard Fisk refused to deal it, that the Chouhan were the ones selling.”

“Could be,” Clint agreed, wrapping the bottle in a bit of felt and putting it away. “Doesn’t really matter who’s dealing, it’s going to ruin some lives.”

* * *

  
  


“Damn it, there are guards at the bridge.” Clint could count them as Bernard flew over. “A half contingent; we can’t go that way.” 

Natasha reined in to slow down. “The land is under the Duke’s control; why would he let Gidra get a foothold …” 

“They’re probably paying him,” Bruce interjected. “He’s appeasing them, thinks that will keep them from turning their eyes Malleton’s way. As long as they aren’t stopping normal traffic, he’ll let them do what they want.” 

“Like he won’t be next,” Clint spat out, his dislike evident as he turned Arrow’s head north. “As soon as Triskelia falls, where does he think that army is going?” 

“Duke Wilhelm claims to be a pacifist; most think he’s in over his head. He’s not the leader his father was, that’s for sure,” Bruce said. “Doesn’t help that he listens to the Earl of Whitehall rather than his father’s counselors. He’s the one who fills his ears with the dangers of Wildes, how the city needs better laws and a stronger wall to keep the denizens ‘safe’.” 

“Ah, the employment permits are his idea?” Natasha asked. “How is someone looking for work supposed to have permission from a citizen before they enter the city? The jobs are inside the city.” 

Clint let them talk politics as they rode, keeping an eye on the road and opening his senses to the activity of the forest around them. From the moment he’d woken to the trilling of birds, he’d felt a weighted foreboding like something was going to happen today. And yet, so far, all had been not only quiet but pleasant. They’d passed some deer, a doe and her children, eating in a clearing. A nice breeze kept things temperant, perfect weather for traveling. A red fox ran along a branch, curious and friendly. If it weren’t for the knot at the base of his throat, Clint would have enjoyed the day even with the Gidrain army so close.

All of Natasha’s precautions turned out to be unnecessary. Once they came to the fallback location, the road was clear as far as Bernard could see. Breaking into a cantor, they covered the ground in short order, slipping under the eaves of the pines without anyone the wiser. The ease unnerved Clint further; life was rarely this accommodating, in his experience. On edge, he started listening to every sound, waiting for Fate to spin the wheel. 

“We need to swing south,” he said as they moved further into the trees. “Avoid the Aspen groves too; we’re just past peradac mating season and they feed on the pods.” 

Natasha shot him a look, picking up on his tone. “That was weeks ago.” 

“Better safe,” he replied. “I think it wise.” 

She didn’t reply, just adjusted their path. “If you say. I won’t mind not smelling the rotting peat. Still have some of the gamlogh stink lingering. Might add an hour or two; we still want to be through the vale before nightfall …” 

Lucky’s head whipped up and he woofed, one short sound of warning. 

“What?” Clint followed Lucky’s gaze. “Are we … “

A terrified whinny echoed through the trunks; a wave of fear washed over Clint’s senses. 

“That’s a horse,” Bruce said. “Sounds like ... “

A bray of pain then a wordless shout followed. Lucky woofed again, straining at the basket sides. 

“Someone’s in trouble.” Clint was swinging down from his saddle before he finished the sentence, bow in his fingers as he paused to string it. In a fuzzy image from the scared horse, Clint caught sight of long tentacles and a gaping mouth filled with teeth. “A watcher. Fucking hell, there’s a watcher in the water.” 

He was off before Natasha dismounted, swinging the pouch with the twins on to Bruce’s pommel and Lucky winding around his heels. Dashing towards the sounds, he touched the horse’s mind, a gentle caress that promised help; the mare’s eyes were trained on the nightmare rising up from the bog. The thing was big, too big to be in these marshes; watchers preferred deeper ponds with algae blooms and weeds, stagnant water filled with dark places. Why was it here? How? 

Grunts of effort mixed with squelching sounds as Clint came closer; drawing two arrows from his quiver, he broke through the brush to see a man with a sword dancing around swinging tentacles, keeping himself between the monster and a beautiful Appaloosa. Reins caught in a prickly bush, she was trapped, unable to get out of the watcher’s reach. 

“Lucky, fix.” Clint pictured the tangled leather straps. “Watch the hooves; she’s panicked.” 

Notching an arrow, he sighted down the shaft as the sharp edge of the man’s sword hit one of the slimy appendages and bounced off the thick skin. He spun, ducking, and coming up on the other side to try again. Clearly a trained fighter, compact body and tight muscles moved in harmony as he avoided blows, his strikes calculated and swift. Strong thighs held ground as tentacles grabbed at him; when one caught him on the shoulder, he shrugged it off and ignored the wound left behind, slashing again and again. But none of that would defeat this monster; the watcher had only one vulnerability and all Clint needed was a clear … 

“Oh no you don’t,” the man shouted as tentacles reached for the horse. He speared one with the tip of his sword only to be tripped by the waving end, landing heavily on his back. Immediately, a tentacle wrapped around his ankle and another around his bicep. The monster rose up out of the water, a bulbous head with protruding black eyes, mouth agape as it swooped down to gobble up its prey. 

The first arrow slammed into the closest eye; the watcher roared in pain. The second punctured the other one, and it began to thrash, limbs crisscrossing and flying everywhere. 

“Bernard!” Clint called. 

The hawk swept in, caught fletching in its talon and flew back up, arrow in its grasp; the monster surged up, sightless and in pain. 

“Through the eye into the brain,” Clint told the man as he got up. “Only way to kill it.”

With a nod, he crouched, watched the jerky motions, then, in one fluid motion, darted forward and sank his sword into the empty socket. Rearing up, the watcher tossed his head, knocking the man away, and loosing an unearthly scream before sinking down, body half in the water and half on land. In the quiet that fell, Clint could hear the labored breathing of the horse. 

“Lola,” the man said. “She’s hurt …” He groaned as he turned, a bloody gash on his side. 

Still frantic, the horse’s sides were heaving and her eyes glassy. Projecting calm, Clint approached her from her left side, careful to keep in her line of sight. 

“Hey there, beautiful. You’re safe, it’s safe, it’s over.” 

“She’s skittish,” the man warned. “

“I know, darlin’. You were trapped, but Lucky got you free and now I’m going to see if you’re hurt.” Clint reached out a hand and lightly stroked the soft hair on her nose. She was a chestnut blanket withs spots, rich red-brown, and a grey undercoat; a gorgeous animal, she probably ran circles around other horses. Lowering her head, she bumped Clint’s shoulder; as clear as if she’d spoken, he heard her worry about her master. 

“Her left flank. The … thing … got in a blow before I was aware of it.” He brushed past Clint and patted Lola. “Sorry, girl, that’s my fault. Too concerned with avoiding sentries and not paying enough attention to other dangers.”

This close, Clint could see the beginnings of wrinkles at the edges of the man’s eyes and the laugh lines near his mouth. Brown hair neatly trimmed, he had the scruff of a few days on the road and worn boots of someone used to traveling on horseback. His hands were gentle as he examined the scrape, but callouses and blunt nails spoke of making a living by the sword. And the way he cared first for his horse told Clint more about him than any speech could. 

“It’s superficial. She’ll need some salve to stave off infection, but she’ll be fine,” Clint said. 

“If you don’t have any horse cream, we’ll be glad to share,” Natasha added. The man jumped and whirled around, hand going to the empty scabbard by his side. “Looks like you started and finished the fun without me.” 

“Happened pretty fast.” Clint stooped to catch Podo as he made a break for the water. “No playing; there’s millet fish in there and I’m not putting up with your whining if you get stung again.” 

“I haven’t seen one this big since Hwalton; water’s far too shallow for it to survive for any length of time.” Natasha was examining the body, stepping over the lifeless tentacles. Crouching down she turned one of them over. Yellow adhesions ran between the suckers, some with red spots. “Clint, look.” 

Two creatures in two days, in the wrong place, both with signs of the same disease? Clint wasn’t a believer in coincidences. Something wasn’t right. Like a plucked bowstring, his senses hummed, and he heard a distant echo of pain and madness, a vibration that put him on edge. 

“We should go.” A spindly long-legged spider walked across Natasha’s shoe as she spoke. 

Raising his arm, Clint waited for Bernard to glide down and settle on his shoulder then turned to the man. “Can you ride for a bit?”

Blue eyes focused their full intensity on Clint. “The sentries? I’d prefer to avoid any Gidrain entanglements, if possible.” 

“Maybe.” Clint caught Lola’s reins and held her harness. “But there are worse things in the forest that are drawn to death and violence. Best to not be around when they show up.” 

“Oh.” He left the horse’s side and waded into the water without hesitation, unfazed by the dead monster. With a jerk, he pulled his sword out, wiping globs of the ichor on the nearest tentacle; pulling a rag from his saddlebag, he cleaned the length of metal with quick strokes before he resheathed it. “You wouldn’t happen to be going east, would you? Not sure I know the best way to get there from here.” 

Natasha gave a crisp nod. “Mount up; we need to get some distance between us and whatever’s coming”

The phantom touch of a web fell on Clint’s cheek as Natasha passed and the sense of dread from the morning returned, tightening his chest. With Podo in hand and Lucky at heel, he stayed until last, keeping an eye behind as they returned to where Bruce waited. 

“Oh, hello,” Bruce said as Clint and Natasha swung up in the saddle. “I’m Bruce.” 

“I’m Phil,” the man replied. “Looks like we’re sharing the road for a while.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the beginning, Gidra is a kingdom that is currently laying siege to the holy city of Triskelia; we'll be learning a lot more about them and their motives as the story proceeds. 
> 
> Malleton is a Duchy, for those who wonder; I'm using a feudal system as a pattern. 
> 
> Yes, that's a watcher in the water like the one outside of the doors of Moria for the LOTR fans. Going to be mining lots of other fantasy books/RPGs for monsters. 
> 
> It might amuse you to know that I'm arachnophobic; I decided to write Nat as a red witch on purpose to push myself to deal with the eight-legged things in words at least. 
> 
> Wanted to get Phil in sooner than later ... rather than a love/lust at first sight, I'm going for a 'get to know you and decide you're worth pursuing' plotline. 
> 
> One of Natasha's abilities is seeing the "thread" or "web" of actions ... how they relate or connect ...


	5. Chapter #4: Creatures and HIstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson's hobby is history, Natasha seems to know something Clint doesn't, and they travel through the Vale of Valor.

_Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices._

At first, they rode in silence, Natasha in the lead and Clint in the rear where he could confuse their trail; they found a meandering stream and crossed back and forth to break their scent and mask their prints. Clint knew the moment something else found the watcher’s body, a visceral punch that made him slam shut his senses and locked his thoughts away. A monster that fed on echoes of violence to that extent shouldn’t be so close to the road and civilization; the ones he knew of tended to hide in dark places, only coming close to humans when death was widespread, like a battlefield or a quaking of the earth. It gave him chills to think of one within easy striking distance of Malleton or Triskelia. Even Gidrain soldiers didn’t deserve that kind of end. 

Once they were far enough away, Natasha began the interrogation. 

“Phil, huh?” She gave him a reassuring smile. “How long can you ride? Would be easiest to go until noonday; there’s a good stopping place that’s not too far from the treeline.” 

“Phil Coulson,” the man said. “As long as Lola’s alright, we can go that far; I don’t want her in any pain.” 

“She’s not limping and her gait’s even.” Clint had been watching for any signs the horse was in distress. “The wound’s a scrape; it’s the watcher saliva that’s the problem. Causes infection and rot if left untreated; we get both of you slathered up with salve, you’ll be fine.” 

“You’re a horse whisperer, aren’t you? I know a guy at the crossroads, Mack; he’s good with horses like you.” He turned to look at Clint with those intense blue eyes. “Takes really good care of Lola when I pass through.” 

“Alphonse Mackensie, yeah, he’s a good man,” Clint replied. Whisperers were often people with a touch of wilde; Mack’s magic was in calming and taming horses because he empathized with them, could sense what scared them. Unlike Clint or Natasha's kind of magic, they were barely outside the ordinary, considered to excel in their professions. People like Betty Ross with her mixtures; she could be the well-studied and trained herbalist she appeared to be or have a touch of verdure ability. 

“He might be moving on, though,” Coulson continued. “One of the Gidrain generals has taken an interest, wants him to come work for them, and he’s getting pushy about it.”

“Damn it that means Leo and Jemma will leave too,” Clint groused. Leo Fitz made the best-balanced arrowheads with compartments for oils and other liquids. “Gidra doesn’t take no for an answer if they’ve got someone in their sights.” 

“Jemma Simmons?” Bruce asked. “She’s smart as a whip.” 

“They might be headed to Malleton,” Coulson said. “It was Mack who warned me to get off the road. Been a lot of troop movements the last few days, relief regiments arriving. Figured I could stay just inside the forest then cut back closer to the mountains; didn’t realize how far up the marsh came. I hit it just as a full phalanx appeared, so I swung south around the edge of it. Guess we know how that turned out.” 

“A phalanx?” Natasha asked. “That seems like a lot of fresh troops.” 

“It does,” Coulson agreed. “Getting to the point a man can’t go from one place to the other without running into them. They’re even setting up guard posts further east in the foothills. To protect trade routes, they say.” 

“Gods, they’re everywhere,” Bruce mumbled. “Locust. A plague of ‘em.” 

“Not stopping anyone yet, but they’ll get there. That’s what they always do,” Coulson agreed. 

The rode for another click without talking and Clint found himself eyeing the line of Coulson’s shoulders and his spine, the way his biceps were barely contained by his shirt, the motion of his hips as he rocked with Lola’s gait. The man knew how to sit a horse, years of experience betrayed in the ease with which he guided her with his knees and hands. Nice hands with a crooked middle finger on the left, broken and healed wrong. 

That feeling of unease rose again. Picking up on Clint’s mood, Podo climbed up to his shoulder and curled around his neck as Lucky rested his head on Clint’s thigh. From them, he got only the usual images of food and play. On high, Bernard flew over the treetops, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. So Clint pushed the doubt aside, pinning it to wider concerns about Gidrains. There was plenty to worry about on the path ahead; he didn’t need to rob tomorrow to make today worse. 

They called a halt at a wide spot in the creek they’d been following; gathering freshwater, Clint took Lola’s reins and tied her where a shaft of sunlight fell on her flank. Coulson refused to leave her, standing with her face in his hands, whispering encouragements as Clint cleaned the clotted blood off then spread ointment over the area. 

“Here.” Natasha held out a handful of webs; Clint covered the wound with the silky threads, sticky ends clinging and holding them in place. “Now it’s your turn,” she told Coulson. 

“This one’s just a scratch,” Coulson said, sitting on a fallen log. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing muscular forearms covered with a smattering of dark hair. Shedding his vest, Coulson pulled his shirt up; red-edged skin curled back, pink inflammation spreading out. “And this one’s not too deep.”

“I’ve got some healseal,” Bruce said, eyeing the cut. “I’ll get my pouch.” 

A glimpse of ink caught Clint’s gaze; above the wound, close to Coulson’s breastbone, was a tattoo, three interconnected spirals. The curls were bisected by a long scar, gone white with age. 

“Gidrain entanglements?” Natasha asked; she nodded to the tattoo when Coulson looked confused. 

“One experience with their hospitality was enough,” Coulson replied, a shadow crossing his face. “I’d like to avoid a repeat performance.” 

“Then your best bet would be to ride with us all the way to the pass,” Natasha offered. Clint’s head shot up from where he’d been focused on Coulson’s abs to find Natasha’s green eyes turned his way. A tiny echo of red flitted through her irises, there then gone. 

“That would be an imposition.” Coulson hadn’t missed Clint’s reaction if his measured response was any indication. “You said we’re near the treeline; just point me north and I’ll eventually hit the road.“

“We wouldn’t mind,” she said, gathering up a long bit of web between her fingers. “Would we, Clint?”

He wasn’t sure what she was up to, but the trust between them ran bone-deep. “Well, I think it’s really Bruce’s call, considering. If he’s okay with the addition …”

“I’m glad to help someone avoid Gidrains.” Bruce finished slathering on the salve; he’d pulled the skin together before covering it with the sticky stuff. “So it’s good for me.” 

“Then I’m fine.” Clint finished the thought; if Natasha wanted Coulson with them, there would be a damn good reason why. “Gives the twins someone else to natter at.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Coulson, Clint noticed, had yet to ask where they were headed or why, nor had he offered anything more than the vague direction of east for his own journey. 

“It’s not a problem.” Gathering the web in one hand, Natasha plucked a fat hairy spider out of it and let it run along her fingers until it was perched on one knuckle. 

Coulson gave only the slightest tell -- a tug on the edge of his lips -- but it was enough. His eyes slid from the creature, up to Natasha’s steady glare, over to where Kodo was perched on Clint’s shoulder, Podo inside his shirt, then down to Lucky nosing at Clint’s belt pouch for a treat. 

“Ah, I see.” He didn’t flinch as Bruce packed the web over his wound. “I would gladly welcome the company, although I think I’m getting the best end of the deal. I have little to offer but a few meat rolls and spice cakes in return for safe passage.” 

Lucky’s ears perked up and he trotted over to sit at Coulson’s feet, staring up with pleading eyes. 

“You said the magic words,” Clint told him. “Anything to do with food and you’ve got a friend for life.” 

“A dog after my own stomach then.” Pulling down his shirt and tucking it back in, Coulson laughed and it broke the tension. “Dough knots are my weakness.”

As Bruce packed away his supplies, Bernard came back from hunting, fresh mice for Kodo and Podo to add to the rabbit he’d already caught to share with Lucky. Clint offered Bruce and Coulson jerky, pleased when both took the spicier strips, adding fuel to his and Natasha's argument of which was better. Filling their water bags, they saddled up and ate as they continued deeper into the forest. It wasn’t much longer until they came to a wider path, one that turned slightly more northeast. An old lumber trail, there was almost room for two to ride abreast. 

“So, question,” Coulson dropped back to ask and Clint steeled himself for the awkward probing any revelation of his wilde side always brought about. “The Vale of Valor? Have you been through there before?” 

“Yes, a few times in fact,” he answered, surprised at the conversation topic. 

“I’ve read about it,” Coulson continued. “Some eyewitnesses of the battle as well as more recent journals and accounts. It’s fascinating, how the stories grow and become exaggerated over time. Not that original events weren’t terribly traumatic, of course, but how superstition and fear gets worked in.” 

“Don’t know too much about the real history,” Clint admitted. “Just that lots of pretty horrible deaths happened and black magic was involved.” 

“An ambush, if I remember right,” Bruce said. “Back during the Eternal Wars.” 

“Relief troops heading to the front from the alliance nations; Baron Mordo waited until they were in the vale and trapped them inside. He summoned dire wraiths, opened the veil between this world and the Nevernever so they could drain the energy from the living and pass it along to him. Only a small number managed to escape the first attack,” Coulson explained. “A young captain took charge; he split the survivors up, half hiding on the vale side while the rest raced to the eastern road, the enemy on their heels. Sending the youngest of them onward to warn the others, they turned and made a stand, bottling the wraith between them, their goal to fight until Mordo grew too tired to hold the magic.”

“Wasn’t there a young mage, just out of training? She did some spell that was too advanced and backfired …” Bruce wrinkled his eyebrows as he thought. “Or she made Mordo do something? Been a long time since I heard a bard play that tale.” 

“There was a female mage with the ones who crossed the pass, but there’s nothing more about her in the accounts,” Phil said. “The survivors were mostly in the rear of the troop and were able to flee southwards before the vale was closed off. All they knew was that the wraith disappeared into the mountains and Mordo was never heard from again.” 

“So the stories of a dark wizard who walks the pass are him?” Bruce asked. “And the shadowy demons that steal your soul are supposed to be the … what did you call them … wraiths?” 

“If you believe there’s something there, a dire wraith would fit the bill. Baron Mordo, well, that’s a bridge too far for me to accept,” Phil agreed. “The first ghostly encounters in the vale said the apparitions looked like soldiers, but then they've changed shape in later retellings.”

“Huh. Opening a passage from the Nevernever is dangerous to begin with, but add in all that death…” Bruce trailed off. 

“That’s why that sort of magic is considered a dark art,” Natasha said. “The earth can absorb only so much life energy; the rest would be left to pool and stagnate and then it makes a perfect home for a monster.” 

“Or turns the creatures who stumble in it into monsters,” Clint added. “Changes ‘em.” 

“You’re talking about Richards’ theory of wildes,” Bruce said. “The emergence of wilde traits coming from the environment and filtering into generations. Heresy, to some.” 

“Nah, just talking about what happens when a doe gets stuck in a black thicket; the thing that crawls out sure isn’t a deer anymore,” Clint clarified. 

“Dark spots are real?” Bruce turned to look at him. “I thought that was just stories to scare people.” 

“Rumors like that can be useful,” Clint replied. “Keeps ‘em safe and out of trouble areas. But, yeah, they’re real. Quite a few in the Vale” 

“Are we passing close to one? I’d love to get some samples to study. Assuming it’s safe,” Bruce asked. 

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Natasha said. “Everything in them are infected ... grass, trees, the earth itself. Best to leave ‘em be.” 

“That could account for some of the stories, mutated creatures mistaken for demons,” Phil continued his train of thought. “There’s a scholar who believes the area is the location of an even older massacre, back when Malleton was little more than a trade route stopover; there’s an epic poem, written in common Eldarin, about a lost legion searching for their way home. He argues the pass is where they ran afoul of the god of the mountain and were cursed. It’s a stretch, but a fascinating read …” 

Clint couldn’t help but smile at the man’s enthusiasm; the more he talked the more animated he became, clearly interested the topic. Coulson caught the look and broke off, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Sorry. I do tend to go on,” he apologized. “Just tell me to stop if I start to bore you.” 

“No, it’s good,” Clint said. “Nat says I ramble too. Be nice to have new ears for my stories.” 

“Oh, mother goddess, please don’t start with the one about the barking dog and the seven sisters. I was there, remember? I know what really happened.” Natasha grinned back at them. 

“Okay, the Nubarian cat chase ...” Clint ducked as she sent a cone from a tree flying his way. 

“No tales with nudity or sex for at least a day,” she warned. “You might embarrass Bruce.” 

“History it is, then,” Clint replied. “Continue, Coulson, we’re all ears.” 

* * *

The Vale of Valor was more of a plain between two ridges than a valley; after passing through a narrow opening in the hills, it widened back out before the mountains towered om the distance. A road cut the straightest path from the mouth, slowly rising in elevation until it took a sharp upward turn to the pass. Once a major thoroughfare, the road had reached all the way down to the city of Esconte and further southern reaches, connecting the once verdant cities and states to their Northern counterparts. Now, the way was choked with grass, trees encroaching on the edges, only a small center of tamped earth left. 

A few hardy travelers -- tinkers and merchants mostly -- used it regularly, although more would be taking the risk if soldiers were blocking the Middling and Eastern road. Experienced journeyers could avoid the worst problem areas; Clint shuddered to think of people trying the route on their own. To the creatures that made the blighted spots their dens … or those that got trapped there … a steady source of humans passing would encourage them to venture out and that could only lead to more deaths and exaggerated stories. Another thing to lay at the foot of Gidra’s obsession with power. 

“We’re riding two abreast,” Natasha instructed. “Clint and I will take the right; we’re skirting around the vale on the left. Bruce, you’re with me.” 

Natasha tossed Clint a look over her shoulder and he saw the tension in her shoulders, the press of her lips into a thin line as she surveyed the lay of the land. She must be feeling what Clint was, the unnerving foreboding that was back and stronger than before. He hadn’t lied when he told Phil they’d gone this way multiple times before; the only trouble they’d had was a hungry bear that had woken early from hibernation and a particularly pissed off wolf pack they’d accidentally interrupted during a hunt. But today, even the air felt different, thicker as if filled with pollen and smoke. 

“We’ve got five candle marks until full dark,” she continued. “It should take two to get through the vale, another one over the pass, plenty of time to find a waystation and settle in for the night.” 

“Why the left?” Coulson asked as he brought Lola abreast with Clint. “Not complaining, just curious why not the road?” 

“Worst of the thickets are in the middle; we’d have to skirt around them,” Clint explained. “They grow and shrink without rhyme or reason. Every time, they’re different; this way we have to watch only one flank.” 

“Change area?” Bruce leaned forward and looked past Natasha as they rode into the vale. “How do you know? Have you mapped them?”

“Bird’s eye view.” Clint nodded to Bernard as he circled overhead. “The animals know when we’re close to one as well. Best watch Lola and Caiera and keep your hands on the reins.” 

“Some stay the same,” Natasha added. “There’s a large one on the east side, just before the road turns up the incline. The vegetation’s dead, nothing’s grown there for generations. The location is clearly marked with warnings. But there are always new ones appearing; the only constant is that they don’t extend out of the vale itself.” 

“Huh, that’s interesting. Natural boundaries or proximity to original bleed through?” Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Assuming the story about opening the veil is true, there could be some tie to the location that’s responsible. Maybe the gap wasn’t closed correctly or with fractured magic … it was a battle situation after all … and there’s still leakage …” 

“Like in the Caerul Sea where the wizard’s spell went wrong and laid waste to a whole island,” Natasha suggested. “Boats that sail too close can be caught up in it.” 

“Land made of glass, melted monsters from nightmares, a perpetual storm.” Clint had heard the tales. “He was trying to call fire into a small space, warp the air into setting itself alight.” 

“Transubstantiation. Very dangerous and volatile. No one’s managed it and most believe it’s impossible,” Bruce offered. 

“Doesn’t stop people from trying,” Coulson said. “For some, knowing they can outstrips the understanding of why they shouldn’t.” 

Bruce tilted his head to the side. “Do you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” Natasha came to instant alert, eyes surveying the area, but all was quiet. 

“I’m not sure, maybe a bird call?” He scrunched up his nose. “But now I can smell … compost, that’s what it’s like. The bin out back of the shop.” 

Clint took the moment to string his bow then cast his senses out. Two dark spots, one a tangle of flytrap vines, the other a wet bog; that’s probably where the odor came from, but it was far enough away that neither the twins nor Lucky had sniffed it out. He focused on what Bernard was seeing as he looped around them. Nothing bigger than some field mice and a den of foxes hunting them in the foothills. If there was something out there, it was hiding in the blight, using the stain for cover. 

“Gah.” Bruce flinched, his eyes squeezing shut. “It’s getting louder.” 

Opening his pouch and freeing the ferrets, Clint drew close enough that Kodo could jump to Bruce’s mare; she ran up his back and placed her paws on his neck. Podo did the same for Clint, chittering into his ear as he settled. The sound that filtered through the animals was tinny and distant, a note that made Clint’s teeth hurt as it repeated over and over. 

“Can you … make it stop.” Bruce clenched his fists on the reins and drew to a stop. “I can’t … think …” 

The wave hit and Clint reeled back in the saddle as Bernard broadcast his fear, yanking Clint into the bird’s mind. A darkened patch of ground floated before his eyes; it was moving as large and black masses were rising up and unfurling tattered wings. 

“Incoming,” Clint called to Natasha, picking Podo up by the scruff and tossing him her way. “Lucky, down. Protect Bruce.” 

Red rimmed eyes scanned the horizon, searching for … they landed on the movement of Bernard’s wings. 

**PREY**

“No.” Clint spurred Arrow, jerking the reins and heading into the vale. “Bank left, bank left!” 

Bernard turned on a wingtip, narrowly avoiding the biggest monster’s black beak as it snapped shut. The hawk turned again but couldn’t shake the one of the smaller of the three from his tail. Rising up in the saddle, directing Arrow with his knees, Clint took aim and sent two arrows flying into the creature, blinding it in one eye and sinking into the joint between wing and body. Flailing, it screamed as it fell, hitting the ground with an audible crack of bones. 

“What are they?” Coulson asked, a small crossbow in his hand, Lola matching Arrow’s stride. “And where do I hit ‘em?” 

Clint took a closer look. Black feathers, notched and mottled, long spindly legs covered in moss and lichen, the big one had a wingspan of twelve hands, sharp quills on its tail, a patchwork of different monsters. The sharp talons on its feet were large enough to pick up a horse and he had the girth to lift it. 

“Never seen anything like it,” Clint admitted as he sighted the second smaller one, dropping Arrow to a walk. “But if they can’t fly, they’re easier to take down.” 

The quarrel matched Clint’s arrow, both hitting the same wing, the larger metal head of Coulson’s bolt tearing through tendon and leaving a gaping hole. Clint’s second shot went through the neck and it dropped like a stone, it’s death call echoing off the hills. The largest screeched and bore down on Bernard, closing the distance with its big wings. 

  
  


“Dive on my mark,” Clint called to the hawk, taking aim at a blank spot in the sky. “Three … two … one … NOW!”

Tucking in his wings, Bernard plummeted down, the creature overshooting his position; it tried to correct its trajectory with a flurry of flapping large wings but ended up in Clint’s crosshairs instead. He loosed the first arrow, followed with a second and then a third, not caring where they hit just as long as they got its attention. One buried into its lower chest all the way up to the fletching and hate-filled eyes turned Clint’s way. 

“That’s right, I’m more interesting.” He vaulted off Arrow, smacked the horse on the rump, and told him, “Go to Natasha. Take Lola.” 

With a whiny, Arrow broke into a run, Lola by his side. The creature’s head whipped their way, but another volley kept the monster looking towards Clint and Coulson. “Yeah, that’s right, we’re the ones you need to worry about.” 

“What’s the plan?” Coulson asked, sword rasping out its scabbard. 

“Shoot it until it either runs away or dies.” Clint tossed him a grin. “If neither of those work, I’ll ask it nicely to leave us alone.” 

“Ask it …” Coulson chuckled. “I like your sense of humor, Barton. Thought I’d say it before we get ripped to shreds.” 

The monster’s caw bounced off the hills, returning as a blast of rage. Planting his feet, Clint slung his quiver tighter over his shoulder and readied another arrow; he fired off two more shots before the backwash of the monster’s wings nearly knocked him over. It shook off each hit, anger growing and directed their way.

“What the hell are you?” Clint murmured as the creature landed a few hops away. Beady eyes stared, feet dug into the ground, ripping up grass and turf, and low burble came from its throat. “Better yet, what did you use to be?” 

He reached out, a tiny tendril of mental touch, a simple search for any remains of the animal that had been warped into this monstrosity. If he could find it, appeal to it, maybe, he could … 

“Clint!” Coulson jerked him out of the way as the creature slung its tail; a long thick quill slashed through the space where Clint’s chest had just been. 

“Damn it, you want to play rough? We can do that,” Clint shouted. He planted his feet and opened the connection, diving into the creature’s mind. A maelstrom of confusion and pain greeted him; sharp pain lanced through it, from the creaking bones of its wings to the stabbing sting in its feet. A constant burning, like fire licking across its skin. Clint had never felt as much torment in any creature; he struggled to find any part that wasn’t a chaotic mess of fury. His hands began to tremble as he widened his search and the creature fought him. 

“Stop it,” Clint ground out between clenched teeth. “I’m trying to help ...” 

The monster darted forward with a screech, but Clint exerted his will, pushing back.

“What … were … you …” Clint was panting, sweat gathering at the back of his neck and rolling down his spine. 

The miasma of its mind threatened to overwhelm him; a warm trickle ran from his nose, the blood salty on his lip. The monster tried to pounce; a quarrel punched through the tendon of one wing. 

“Damn it.” Clint was shaking, the chaos of the monster’s thoughts almost too much. “There’s got to be something left.” 

With one last push, he sank deeper, past frenzy, through madness, beyond fear … and found a tiny kernel of intelligence, a hint of mischievousness, and a well of sadness. A racial memory of a flock and a family. Ravens, twisted and tortured, that’s what they were. Buried in this body on fire and forever lost. 

“Shiny.”

Clint dug a hand into his belt pouch, fingers fumbling until he felt the raised edge. Drawing out the pilgrim badge, he held it up, flicking it back and forth, catching the afternoon sun; a flash of light darted across the monster’s face.

“Come on, you know you want it. Look how pretty it is.”

He kept rotating his wrist, making the bright circle dance.

“It’s from up north where it’s cold.”

The monster began to follow it with its eyes and the pressure on Clint’s mind eased.

“Might even be one-of-a-kind, make a great addition to your nest.”

Back and forth, back and forth, the motion sparked something deep in the creature’s memory.

“St. Ygritte, patron of winter. Bet she can cool you down, take away some of the hurt.”

He carefully took a few, slow steps; it followed, hypnotized by the medal.

“That’s it. I know you want the pain to end; let me help you.”

He didn’t need to go far, just get close enough.

“I’m so sorry, little bird. But you’ll be with your flock soon.”

He blinked away the tears that gathered at the corner of his eyes.

“Here you go, darlin’. It’s all yours.” 

Flicking his wrist, he sent the shiny silver flying through the air; the creature lunged after it, taking two ground-clearing hops before the tangled vines shot out and wrapped around its legs, sinking thorns into the flesh. The monster ignored the pain, snapping its beak around the badge and shaking its head in triumph even as the tendrils dragged it in. 

Clint stumbled as a fierce blast of cold surged down his neck and over his shoulders. Ice formed over the monster, spreading with a crackle and pop; it slipped into the tangle without a sound, anger fading into soothing coolness. 

“And here I thought you were joking about talking to it,” Coulson said, standing next to him. “What was that you gave it? A magical talisman?” 

“Damned if I know.” Clint tried to shrug but his knees gave out instead. Strong arms caught him under the shoulders, a warm body holding him upright. “Might have overdone it just a bit.” 

“A bit.” Coulson snorted a half-laugh. “Come on, let’s get you in the saddle. Something tells me we just sent out another invitation for trouble.” 

“I’m good at that.” A cold nose touched his hand; Lucky butted his legs. “Getting into trouble.”

“That I’m beginning to believe,” Coulson said. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Phil's a history buff ;)
> 
> I'm not using any parallels between MCU/Comics canon and the backstory here, just mining it for names and creatures, so don't worry if you can't come up with a battle like the one mentioned here. More working from bigger tropes of fantasy world building. 
> 
> Yes, that's Baron Mordo from Dr. Strange -- needed a magician who could call things from other dimensions. 
> 
> The Nevernever is straight from Jim Butcher's The Dresden Files. Why reinvent the wheel when someone's already done such an amazing job at it, eh?
> 
> Saint Ygritte of the North ... a little Game of Thrones reference for you. :((
> 
> The end of this chapter got away from me; I had a plan then Clint the Dreagst said, "Nope, going to try and save it" and took over the plot.


	6. Chapter #5: Of Friends and Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party heads over the pass but not before Natasha makes a new friend ... but between the mountains, shadows await.

  
_When gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers._

They stopped at the curve of the trail, just before it narrowed to start up the pass. From this vantage point, they could see the whole vale laid out behind them; Bruce had taken out a notebook and was sketching the sight, hashing in the dark pockets and adding the smaller paths people had created to avoid them. The biggest one lay below, a sprawling sinkhole whose stink Clint could smell even where they were. They’d taken a winding route to this point, riding single file, horses picking their way carefully until they could join the wider road. 

Clint offered Coulson a handful of the nuts and raisins mixture he was studiously keeping from Podo. Unlike his sister, Podo thought he was human and wanted to try whatever Clint was eating, even if it was bad for him. That never stopped Podo or Lucky from begging for it. Even as he folded the pouch over, the ferret was balanced on his shoulder, reaching towards the snack. 

“No, it will make you sick, silly Po, ” he admonished. “I’m not buying the sad eyes; you’ve had your treat.”

“So, you really do talk to animals,” Coulson said as he took a sip of water from his flask to chase the salty bite. 

“It’s not talking, more like reading their mood or sensing what they’re feeling.” Clint had a number of explanations for when people asked; the question was which one to use. So far, Coulson had shown himself to be a man of action, someone good to have at Clint’s back; he hadn’t flinched earlier nor had he reacted when Natasha called a halt to meditate and rest. As she’d settled on the ground and the red glow of her magic began to gather, Coulson had stepped back, interested, but not interfering. 

“You give them commands and they understand,” Coulson continued. “Even that creature stopped when you told it to.” 

“I don’t command them,” Clint objected. “That assumes I’m their master and I’m not. Lucky, Kodo, Podo, Bernard, Arrow … we’re partners, friends. We train just like any other horse or a rescue dog. They trust me and help us because they’re getting something out of the relationship too.” 

As if he was part of the conversation, Podo ducked his head into Clint’s jacket pocket, back paws clinging to Clint’s shoulder, and came out with a copper coin. He waved it Coulson’s way then ran along Clint’s arm and hopped to the ground, chortling as he made off with his treasure. 

“He certainly seems happy.” Coulson chuckled at the ferret’s antics. “He’s a handful; his sister is more content, I take it.” 

Clint glanced over to where Kodo was laying across Bruce’s shoulders, eyes intent on the scratching charcoal pencil he was using. “Animals all have their own personalities. Lola, for example, is well aware of how gorgeous she is; she could easily be spoiled with that speed and heritage, but you’ve raised her well and she adores you.” 

“She does?” He looked at his horse; she was drinking her own bowl of water, standing between Yelena and Caiera. Arrow was odd man out, sulking off to the side after all three mares had crowded him out. “That’s nice to know.” 

“Animals who are around humans are fairly easy,” Clint continued. “Undomesticated animals like the owl in that tree … they’re harder simply because humans are foreign to their thoughts. But there’s a lot I can get from them: a view of the road, if there’s a predator nearby, where freshwater is.” 

“And monsters? I can’t imagine what that watcher’s mind would be like.” 

“Most are just creatures of habit, doing what’s in their nature. Wake a hibernating bear or disturb an ogre in his swamp and they’ll both be pissed off. Sometimes pushing them to move on is the best answer. Things like that bird, well, their minds have been broken and remade into something unnatural. If there’s a part of the animal left, sometimes I can … but not always” Clint shrugged but it rankled. He hated when there weren’t any other options. 

“What you did was a mercy,” Coulson assured him. “The pain … I could see it on your face. It’s better off now.” 

He didn’t want to get into a discussion of what was justice when innocent birds could be twisted into such terrors. Mages like the one whose black art left those stains on the world, rulers who destroyed the land for profit, priests who taught the supremacy of humans over the earth, those were the ones he had little sympathy for. 

“Um, should we be worried?” Bruce’s low voice interrupted Clint’s thoughts; he nodded towards Natasha and Clint followed the line of sight. The spider had long spindly legs, its body even with Natasha’s shoulders. A bright red thorax melted into a black abdomen except for an x on the top. Long pinchers bent before it settled beside her, head on her leg. 

Clint put a hand on Bruce’s arm, forestalling him as he started forward. “She’s fine; it won’t hurt her and as long as we stay here, it won’t bother us either.” 

“But it’s a …” Bruce cut off when he saw it shift into her lap, legs hooking over her shoulders. 

“Interrupting is the biggest danger.” Clint dragged a hand through Lucky’s fur as the dog pressed against his leg. “They’re native to these mountains. Live in holes in the ground near the tree line. Rarely come down this far and tend to stay away from humans unless provoked.” 

Coulson was completely still at Clint’s other side. “In some of the stories, the red widows help the Alliance fighters by absorbing magical energy and poisoning the wraiths, but those are the ones where Nature itself takes sides.” 

They waited in silence, a shared tension running between them. Despite Clint’s surety that Natasha’s magic would protect them, he kept a close eye on the deadly creature until it unfolded and made its way back into the woods. Lucky approached her first, nuzzling Natasha’s hair; she used him to balance as she stood up. A palm-sized ball of web glowed her in hand, flickering between red and orange; walking to the nearest tree, she let the other three smaller spiders crawl away on the bark. 

“We should mount up, head out,” she said, a flicker of red still in her eyes. “Better on the road than staying here.” 

“Are you …” Bruce hesitated then continued “Energy expended can cause headaches and dehydration. I have something that might help if you want. We make it for a healer friend; I packed some just in case since you were … I didn’t know what we’d run into, so it seemed prudent. It’s best as a tisane, but you can mix it with water and drink it that way.” 

“I’ll try it.” Clint could see Natasha’s creased brow and knew she could use some relief. “If you can get to it easily enough.” 

Bruce went to his saddlebag and rummaged through, pulling out a small tin cup and a folded parchment pouch. “Mostly Gamimill and Hueyo bark, thus brewing it as tea, but it’s the nagmenium that does the trick. “ He measured a dose, added water then swirled. “Drink half,” he told Clint as he handed it over. “Won’t taste good this way, needs some sweetener, but it will work.” 

Bitter and grassy, the sip Clint took also had a metallic taste, like streams that flowed near mining facilities. He swallowed another large gulp … it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever drunk… and passed the cup to Natasha. 

“Don’t drink anything else for a few minutes; I know it leaves an aftertaste but it’s more potent if absorbed through the linings of your mouth.” Bruce rinsed the cup when she was finished then packed it all away. “After that, water is important; you should drink often.” 

Swinging up in the saddle, Clint settled Lucky in his basket and tucked Podo into his shirt; Kodo stayed with Natasha, curling around the pommel of her saddle and draping her head over Natasha’s leg. Once Bernard was settled on his perch, Clint exchanged a nod with Coulson before he took the lead; with Bruce second in line, Coulson dropped back to ride with Natasha.

They made better time on the road; it saw enough traffic to stay relatively clear and was wide enough to ride abreast. The distance wasn’t far, a candlemark if they maintained a trot rather than a walk. The danger of the pass wasn’t the length or even the elevation; it was the shadowed dips and rises that concealed all sorts of creatures from bears to foxes to wolves. Spiders like Natasha’s visitor that came from the ground and dragged their prey to feed their babies, and snakes that liked to sun themselves on rocks, content unless an unsuspecting passerby bothered them. Those, Clint could handle; he could keep track, avoid blundering across them. With Natasha’s magic, they could slip through webs and have forewarning of anything that encroached near them. 

The whispered voices, the formless shapes that sometimes flitted between the trees, the sounds of hooves when no one appeared, those he worried about. He’s seen too many impossible things in his life to not believe there could be more than animals and even monsters lurking in the mountains. So far, in the times he’d taken this route, there had been nothing more than oddities, easily explained by a tree’s shadow or falling rock or some other rational explanation. But after the events of the last few days, Clint wasn’t so sure they'd be as benign this time. 

“Can I ask if you learned anything from our guest?” Coulson asked. “I don’t want to overstep, but I do like to be prepared for all possibilities.” 

“Guest.” Natasha chuckled. “That’s a nice word for her; her type usually don’t like to commune, preferring the isolation of their nest. Takes a lot to get them to answer a call.”

“Ah, so it’s not good news,” Coulson said. 

“No, it’s not,” Natasha answered. “Her family has been run out of their holes twice recently; once was that unusual weather pattern earlier this spring, the one with all the rain.” 

“Some of the docks and lower streets flooded in Malleton,” Bruce added. “Too much water for the overflow outlets.”

“The second was within the fortnight. I couldn’t tell what it was exactly from her image, just that it was dark and terrified them.”

“A natural predator?” Clint asked. “Maybe those raven hybrids. They’d be big enough to eat them.” 

Bruce made a noise in his throat. “That’s going to be in my dreams tonight.” 

“Always something bigger, badder than you. That’s how nature works,” Clint said. “Even for humans. Granted, it’s usually another human, but we’ve seen a couple of things that could kill us on this trip.” 

“Would they fly that far from the blighted spot? Seems a long way to go when there was probably other, easier game closer,” Coulson added. “Humans are the ones who like to go from one place to another and leave a swath of destruction behind for the fun of it.” 

Clint shrugged; Coulson was right. “If you’d asked me two days ago if a watcher could survive in that bog, I’d have said no, so what do I know?”

“When it comes to the wild, a lot more than me; Betty devises the compounds for animals,” Bruce said. “Is that unusual? To find creatures where they shouldn’t be?”

“Yes and no. Nature is, at its heart, change,” Natasha said. “The threads are constantly being spun and rewoven. There were once full-sized dragons, according to those histories Coulson reads; now we have drakaurs.” 

“Those are real?” Bruce perked up. “I have a friend who studies hybrids and he was just going on about man-sized lizards who walk on their hind legs. I didn’t believe him.” 

“We ran into one down past Darington. A good two hands taller than me, so I wouldn’t say man-sized. Town was all up in arms about it taking up residence in some cliff caves; we talked ‘em down after it agreed to keep an eye out for marauders and pirates for ‘em. Helps it was an herbivore.” Clint smiled at the memory; he still had the shed scales the drakaur had gifted them. One day he was going to make a necklace for Natasha out of the pretty iridescent blue-green shells. 

“Do you think it would mind visitors? Charles would love to meet one and I’m sure he’d pay you to take him there. He made a journey last year across the sea because he heard there was a man who had blue skin and a prehensile tail …” 

As Bruce continued to talk, Clint turned his attention to the road ahead. They were nearing the first narrow part, a switchback that would turn them east then north again. Rocky hillside rose on either side of the path, blocking them in; there were two sections of the pass Clint didn’t like, and this was one of them. Too easy for something to hide in the trees that loomed nearby, branches hanging over their heads where things could drop upon them. 

He reached out with his senses to listen for any danger and his eyelids grew heavy as the ache at the base of his skull throbbed a little harder. He was tired, and it made him sluggish. Bruce’s brew had helped, but was well past his limits already. So he focused, tried to clear his thoughts, let nothing else steal his attention, rested his hand on Lucky’s head, and continued forward. He sank into the connection, watched for any sign of trouble, but found only wildlife going about their daily routines. Chipmunks gathering nuts, deer grazing, some starlings building a nest. The nest of Natasha’s poisonous friend. Nothing out of the ordinary as he kept casting forward then sweeping out behind. 

“Hey.” 

Clint was jerked back into his body; a hand on his arm kept him in the saddle as he wavered, exhaustion sweeping through him. 

“You looked distant,” Coulson said. “Everything okay?” 

“Yes, yeah, I’m …” Clint shook his head to clear the clouds from his head. “I’m tired, that’s all. I could use a nice cup of coffee, black, so sweet it makes my teeth ache.” 

Glancing back, he saw Bruce riding with Natasha; she caught Clint’s look and raised an eyebrow. He closed his eyes and dropped his chin then opened them again. She held out one fist and tapped it; faint red tendrils sparked, circling her and Bruce, spanning the distance and wrapping around Coulson; flicking her fingers, she sent them arcing to Clint, running along the lines of Arrow’s body and up Clint’s arms to his shoulders. The weariness slipped back, still there, but not as much of a weight. 

“If I were a mage, that would be the first spell I’d research.” Coulson chuckled. “One of the benefits of retiring is having a mug every morning from a fresh pot. Friend of mine from back in the day used to brew it real thick, almost sludge, before we’d head out on an assignment and carry it along in a tin. He’d take it out, drop a spoonful in hot water and mix it up. Worst tasting stuff ever, but it did have a punch. Everyone in the troop drank it.” 

“I’ll drink it straight from the pot,” Clint admitted. “Natasha hates it, but I’m not really awake until I’ve had some. Tried chewing on the beans … you can buy them in Providence at a store that sells them covered in chocolate … but it’s not the same.” 

“There’s a food stand near my place that grinds them up, mixes them with pepper and salt, and uses it to crust kebabs. Right next door makes the best spicy meat rolls with rice; I miss them.” Coulson’s smile turned rueful. “Been too long since I lived out of the saddle; Nick says I’ve gone soft, but he’s just an ass that way. Only so much abuse a body can take before you have to admit you’re getting older.” 

“Nothing wrong with soft. One day, Nat and I are going to have enough saved up for a place of our own, somewhere in the mountains with lots of land. I’m looking forward to it.” Clint was glad to see the road straighten, the last turn behind them, even if it angled higher. “Just hope we make it that far, you know?” 

“I do, and I thank the gods every day that I wake in my own bed; so many of those I fought with didn’t get that chance.” Coulson absently ran a hand over his chest and Clint remembered the scar he’d seen. 

“Still hurts sometimes?” Clint dropped his voice as he asked. “Wound like that, you never forget.”

“I can still feel the glave plunging through my back.” A cloud crossed Coulson’s face, his eyes going distant. “I died, stopped breathing, no heartbeat. A Triune priest brought me back; that was it, for me. I”d already seen enough death to last two lifetimes. So I retired and moved on. Don’t regret it despite Nick’s jokes about my slow reaction times.” 

“Slow? He must not have seen you recently.” Clint had the urge to reach out his hand, to touch the bare skin above Phil’s wrist, to offer comfort. But he didn’t; he wasn’t sure of his welcome. Instead, he made a joke out of it and waggled his eyebrows. “You’re good with your sword.” 

A blush spread up Coulson’s neck. “Ah, we’ve moved on to the sex puns, have we? Skipped right over the bonding through old battle tales?” 

“I’m a punny kind of guy, Coulson,” Clint replied. “And my stories tend towards absurdity and nakedness.” 

“Well, in that case, I think you can call me Phil, don’t you?” 

“Did you hear that?” Bruce suddenly said, his voice loud enough to carry. 

“Hear what?” Coulson asked. 

“I could swear … probably just the wind.” Bruce waved them off. “Should have taken some of that headache brew myself. Must be a change in the weather coming; I’m sensitive to them.” 

Podo stuck his head out of Clint’s shirt, raised his nose and sniffed the air as a gust swept through the pass, bringing noticeably colder air. Shivering, the ferret dived back down and curled along Clint’s waist. 

“To speak is to give it presence,” Coulson murmured. 

“I think we could pick up the pace,” Natasha suggested. “I’m craving some rabbit stew for dinner and that takes time to simmer.” 

Clint patted Arrow and they sped up, not a full gallop but moving faster than before. The road wound between peaks, the late afternoon sun above the highest one but falling towards the West. He kept his eyes and ears open but everything was quiet as they closed the distance to the second switchback and the descent on the other side. Still, Clint didn’t let his guard drop, on heightened alert for any hint of trouble. 

“Clint.” 

As clear as day, he heard the voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black mass detach from a tree trunk; when he turned his head, there was nothing there. 

“There!” Bruce was pointing in the opposite direction. “Something moved behind that bush.” 

“We’re almost through, a quarter of a candlemark left,” Natasha promised. “We just have to …” 

The scream cut through Clint’s senses, mental pain slamming into him. Loss, anguish mixed with a burning rage. So fresh and raw, a series of images flashed before him. Bodies, torn and bloody, strew over the ground. A man begging to die. Grey tentacles winding around flesh. Terrified horses bolting and trampling. Panic. Agony. Fear. Despair. Horror. Like a vortex, it sucked him in, pulling him down into the torment. 

Sharp and quick, Podo bit his hand and the pain brought him back into his body. He put up his mental walls, shutting out the cacophony and grabbing the reins. Arrow was surging forward, Lola keeping pace, dancing to avoid the tendrils of black mist that were creeping across the road. 

A frightened whinny came from behind him; Clint glanced back and saw Caiera balk as a man-shaped black mass rose from the side of the road. It reached out and the mare shied sideways, right into Yelena’s flank. As the mist touched Caiera’s neck, she reared, front legs kicking, letting loose an unnerving scream. Unbalanced, Bruce toppled sideways, landing on the ground with a thud and rolling under the horse. 

Clint jumped into the mare’s mind, pushing his way through the terror that ripped at him and tried to shove him out. He kept going, pressing her until she lurched sideways, feet barely missing the curled body. 

“Too much,” Bruce groaned, the mist coalescing, balling around him and leaving the others. He moaned and lashed out with his hands, trying to brush it off but it oozed over his legs and up his arms. “Go away!” 

“Hold on to me.” Natasha was off her horse and reaching out. With effort, Bruce rolled up on one elbow and his fingers met hers. The shadowy mass lunged across the joined hands, climbing up Natasha’s forearm. “Clint, the horses.” 

It was easier to touch Yelena; she took Caiera’s reins and tugged the frightened mare to Clint. “Natasha?” he asked. 

“Stay back; keep them calm” she grimaced. “So much pain. I don’t know if I can … Goddess and sisters!” Her voice rang out as she began to glow. “Give me your strength and aid.” 

Magic pulsed, a red flash that made Clint turn his eyes away; when he looked back, the trees were moving, spiders coming up out of the ground and swinging on threads, each throwing their energy to her. Up the mountain it ran then returning in force, a ripple growing in strength and rolling towards Natasha. A wall of red engulfed them and, for a moment, Clint saw not one female silhouette but two in the center, blindingly bright, then it crested and splintered the dark mist, shattering it into tiny pieces before dissipating. 

“Nat.” Clint dismounted and closed the distance, heedless of the spiders making their way back into the forest. When he went to wrap an arm around her shoulders, she waved him off. 

“Help Bruce. Whatever it is, it will be back. I just bought us some time.” Even now, the mist was reforming and coming back together; he caught Bruce’s arm and pulled him up while Natasha whistled and Yelena came. “Get him up behind me.” 

By the time a groggy Bruce was mounted pinion, his arms around Natasha’s waist, the tendrils were curling their way. Swinging into his saddle, Clint urged Arrow forward and the appaloosa lept, all too ready to get away from the place. They raced forward, Caiera tucked inside the other horses, Natasha’s red threads spiraling around them. No one spoke, heads down and sight set on the curves in the road just ahead, the blackness nipping at their heels. 

A perfect site for a last stand; Clint thought of Phil’s story about the surviving soldiers, racing across the pass, looking for a place to turn and fight. The first curveof the road was sharp and he leaned into it as Arrow zipped around its close quarters, easy to block, hemmed in by trees and outcrops of rock. Lola was out in front; her faster speed could easily outpace the others, but she kept stride, clearly battle-trained to ride with others. 

The thick sooty fog crept over the peaks, writhing closer; it battered at his senses, demanding entrance, wanting to invade his mind. Lucky whined in his basket and tucked his nose under Clint’s leg. Then Bernard screeched and Clint got a glimpse around the last twist of the road; an open downward slope and bright sunlight beyond. 

“Almost there. Almost …” 

They rounded the curve and a wall of whirling vapor rose from the ground, blocking the trail and rising up the hillside. Phil cursed as he pulled hard on the reins, bringing Lola to a stop just short of it. 

“Can we …” Phil looked behind them where the shadows were forming another barrier. “Too late.” 

“I’ll ride through.” Clint pulled Podo out of his shirt. “Maybe if I go fast enough …” 

“No, I will,” Natasha interrupted. “I can muster up enough magic, I could make a hole …” 

“You’re exhausted,” Clint argued as the mist grew more opaque. “Take Lucky and the little one. Arrow and I can …” 

“Angels and MInisters of grace defend us.” Phil dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a silver chain. As he held it aloft, he began to speak, his voice laying claim to the words. “I arise today with a mighty strength, the invocation of the Triune, the abundance of the Threeness.”

“Phil.” Clint started forward but Natasha held him back. 

“He’s got as good a shot as we do,” she said. “Let him try.” 

With a sure step, he guided Lola towards the blackness. “I arise today, through the strength of the heavens, the light of the sun, the radiance of the moon, the splendor of fire, the speed of lightning, the swiftness of wind, the depth of the sea, the stability of the earth, the firmness of rock.”

A light blossomed from the silver medal Phil held aloft and the darkness gave, inching back as he pushed forward. “I arise today, protected by the three from evils that try to snare me, against every cruel and merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, against that which corrupts body and soul.”

A shaft of white bore into the mist, splitting it. “The three are with me, they are before me, behind me, beneath me, and above me. They ride on my right and on my left. They are with me when I sleep and when I wake, when I speak and when I remain silent.” 

Pressure built at the base of Clint’s neck, the echo of the pain and destruction, the darkness shrieking in frustration. 

“I arise today and invoke the power of the Three to defend us from this malevolent force, to safeguard our passage, to be our shield against harm.” 

The light blazed, spreading from Phil’s hand to encircle them, burning through the mist as it traveled. As the blackness resisted, the light took form, riders on bright horses, swords slashing at grey masses with waving tentacles. Then came the explosion, a blast that broke the mist apart and sent pieces flying over the mountainside. 

“Wow,” Clint said into the silence that fell afterward. “I didn’t know people still had that much faith.” 

“Just because you don’t believe in the gods, doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Natasha chided him. 

“I wasn’t sure it would work either,” Phil admitted, slumping in his saddle. “But it was worth a try.” 

“Well, I found it both terrifying and strangely arousing,” Clint said. “I’d love to discuss it further once we’re off this mountain … maybe after I’ve collapsed from exhaustion and this headache goes away.” 

“I’ll brew the tea as soon as we stop,” Bruce mumbled. “If I’m awake.” 

“Agreed.” Phil slipped the amulet around his neck. “But someone else has to lead; I don’t know where we're going.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I'm terrorizing myself with this story. If I start writing Ungoliath, I'm going to stop myself, promise. 
> 
> Why is Bruce reacting to things? hmmmmm ...
> 
> That's my inworld version of St. Patrick's Breastplate that Phil uses to splinter the darkness.


	7. Chapter #6: Hail and Well Met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn more about Phil, the Gidrans, and meet some new but familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this chapter written when I realized I needed to change the ending. Sometimes the characters just look at me and go, "Now's good," and I go, "Okay."

_ Everybody is clever nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left. _

Clint wiggled his toes in the fine silt then stepped into the creek. Running down from the mountains, the water was icy cold, stinging his skin as he waded in until it was almost up to his rolled-up pants. Like a shock to his system, he came awake, the chill restoring some of his focus; he’d been practically comatose in the saddle when they stopped at the clearing with a clean firepit and logs for a perimeter. So sluggish and slow, he’d handed over the task of taking care of the horses to Phil without argument and wandered off to relieve himself, almost falling asleep leaning against a tree when he was done. Only the musical sound of water burbling over stones drew him out of his stupor; he’d followed to an easy slope, taken off his socks and boots, and it was a good decision. 

“Bruce has the fire going,” Natasha said, appearing from between the trees. “Bernard dropped off a brace of coneys so we’ll have something warm to eat.” 

Sniffing along the bank, Lucky stopped to take a drink then barked at Clint. 

“It’s nice,” Clint argued when Lucky whined. “Don’t be a baby.” 

Tumbling along the ground, Podo splashed as he got his feet wet, rolling in a shallow eddy. Kodo stopped to dip a paw in, testing the temperature, before she joined her brother for some fun. Their antics made Clint smile; they were alive, about to eat and sleep; any day that ended that way as a good one. 

“You saw something.” He made it a statement, not a question because he knew her well.

A small grey spider, no bigger around than Clint’s thumb, dropped down onto her shoulder and she plucked it with her fingers so it could sit in the palm of her hand. She wrinkled her brow, a sure sign of frustration as she stroked the little spider with her fingertip. “The threads have never been this taut before, but I can’t see what’s pulling on them. All I know is they’re being twisted by some external force. Magic on a scale I’ve never seen. It’s all connected: Fisk’s monster, Bruce’s job, Coulson’s encounter with the watcher.”

“And bringing Phil along?” Clint asked. 

“Safety in numbers?” A sparkle appeared in her green eyes. “We needed a fourth?” 

“Oh, stop.” He splashed some water her way. “Keep your secret.” 

“We wouldn’t have made it through the pass without him,” she reminded him.

“The pass. It’s never been like that.” He shivered, suddenly too cold as he remembered the shadowy tendrils reaching out for them. 

“Stirred up. Everything is magnified.” Her shoulders slumped. “We need to talk to him.” 

“No.” Stepping out onto the bank, Clint nudged Podo with his foot before the ferret could get caught in a faster current. “Remember what happened last time? He’ll go off on a tangent and we’ll end up doing some impossibly difficult job for him for free. Again.” 

“He’s the only wizard we know who can see the bigger picture,” Natasha argued. “We go in prepared, don’t get distracted …”

“Talking to him is like herding cats and you know it.” Clint dried his feet on a patch of grass then picked up his socks and shook out his boots. “If you want to go, that’s your choice, but I’m not. Podo has only just grown that patch of hair back.” 

“Podo stuck his nose into that beaker; he was lucky it was just a little singe.” She spun a thread and let the little spider climb back into a tree. “I’ll meet him at a tavern rather than his place; that should keep the chaos to a minimum. If we get on the road early, we should be there by noon, so there’s plenty of time. Might even do a little shopping.” 

“I’m aware that you didn’t answer my question about Phil,” Clint told her as she turned to go. “And we didn’t talk about that other woman who came when you called.” 

“Other woman?” She stopped. “What other woman?” 

“When you saved Bruce. I saw her, standing with you.” 

“I thought I imagined that.” She looked visibly shaken. “I felt something … someone? … but I assumed it was you.” 

“Not me. I was barely holding Caiera from trampling Bruce. I’d say it was a trick of the light, but there were the others there at the end when Phil broke through. You saw those guys, right?” 

“All I saw was a bright light coming from Phil’s medallion,” she said. “Maybe it was a trick of the eye; you expended a lot of energy today, more than I’ve seen you use in a long time.” 

“Maybe.” He could see the outlines in his mind’s eye, crisp and clear. “But I don’t know.” 

“Tell you what. Fill that gaping maw you call a stomach, get some sleep, and see how you feel in the morning. If you’re still convinced you saw something, we’ll chase answers then” Natasha suggested. “Put your boots on and let’s go eat.” 

"Do you think he knows? Bruce?" Clint asked quietly.

"No." Natasha shook her head. "I don't think he has any idea. 

Bruce was threading the skinned rabbits on a sturdy stick, readying them for the fire, when they returned; he had his pack on the ground next to him, pouches of herbs opened. “Shouldn’t take long,” he told them as he positioned it across the Y shaped branches upright on either side of the pit. “The tea’s finished steeping; have a cup while we wait.” 

Whatever jolt Clint had gotten from the cold was wearing off; his eyelids felt heavier with each passing moment. He busied himself with his nightly chores so that when he sat down he didn’t have to get up again. He checked on the horses, gave each a sugar cube from his pouch; he murmured an apology to Caiera as he stroked her silky nose. Even though he had good reason, invading an animal’s mind was a violation. She seemed calm, settled between Lucky and Yelena, her oat bag almost empty and freshwater to drink. Then he set up his bedroll and took out a jar and a brush. Once he had a steaming cup full, he sat on the closest log and started working on the ferrets. 

“Yes, those are very pretty,” he told Kodo as she showed him the stones she’d taken from the creek. “Nice and shiny.” She continued her monologue while he checked Podo from head to toes before applying the cream liberally. He wiggled, making Clint chuckle. “Stop or I’ll miss a spot. This will help with the itching.” 

“Is he alright?” Phil sat down next to Clint; he took one of Kodo’s stones, turned it over his fingers then handed it back. “Lovely choice, my dear.” 

“They love the water but it dries out their skin. It will flake and crack if we’re not careful. In colder temperatures, they’re prone to frostbite on their paws and nose.” As Clint finished, Lucky pushed his way under Clint’s legs, his tail thumping against the ground. “Wait your turn,” Clint told him. “Kodo’s next.” 

They sat in silence as Natasha spun protective threads and Bruce tended dinner. Once Clint was finished with the twins, he started on Lucky, untangling his hair and checking him for ticks or bites, taking sips of the dark brew along the way. The pulls of brush relaxed him, a repetition so familiar he didn’t need to think about it. The dog’s warmth against his legs and Bernard’s weight on his shoulder grounded him; with Natasha’s magic protecting them, he could rest his senses. 

“More?” Bruce brought the pot over. “It helps with the morning rebound headache.” 

“Thanks.” Clint held up his cup; Podo put his paws on the edge as the level rose. After a sniff, he wrinkled his nose and went back to watching the cooking meat. 

“Phil?” Bruce asked. 

“No, thank you. Actually, I’m good. Not even tired, really,” Phil said. “In fact, I’ll take the first watch so you can all get some sleep.” 

“Energy surfeit.” Bruce put the pot on a flat stone by the fire. “I’ve read about divine invocations but never heard about one that happened in real life. Didn’t expect to ever see one.” 

“Surprised me too,” Phil admitted. “Our troop cleric could do it, but she rarely did. Said the gods were picky about when and where they loaned their power, that it should be a last-ditch effort. Didn’t imagine I could pull it off, but it was worth trying.” 

“Otherworldly creatures,” Natasha added. “From what I understand, the triune gods aren’t big fans of black magic and those things stank of it.” 

“The multiplicity of the whole; any magic that reduces the essence of a creature to something like that would be anathema,” Phil agreed. “It’s one of the first tenets they teach children in the faith; my childhood priest always said you are all you are and no one can tell you you aren’t.”

“Childhood priest?” Clint glanced at Phil. “You were raised Triune?” 

“My mother was one of the faithful, had a small shrine in the house, and read us the sacred texts.” A soft smile spread across Phil’s face. “She took me to Triskelia for my Quadra ceremony; I missed my Septa because I was a squire by then, working under contract with my first troop. My sisters both went when they turned 21.” 

“Triskelia? I’ve heard it’s a beautiful city.” Bruce turned the rabbits and basted them with a paste of water and herbs he’d made. “The library there is unparalleled; I’m nowhere near high enough in standing to get permission to enter. Maybe one day.” 

“It’s amazing, a whole complex of buildings that have grown and been connected over time,” Phil said. “And the Holy Temples? I’m biased, I suppose, but the sacred triad is breathtaking. When Ma took me into the pilgrim’s cloister, well, even a twelve-year-old boy was speechless.” 

“I’ve been in the public sector,” Natasha said. “The Triday Market is worth the trip.” 

“There’s a stall that sells cinnamon ice; Ma got me one as a treat. Said it was tradition; her father got her one for her Quadra.” When he talked about his mother, Phil’s eyes turned a lighter blue. “I owe her so much; she taught me love and acceptance and when to stand and fight.” 

“When did she pass?” Clint asked. 

“Two springs ago. She lived seventy-five years and three days.” Phil chuckled. “She wanted to make it to her twenty-fifth triad and the gods gave her not only that but a peaceful end; she died in her sleep. Went to service two days before and had just posted a package of prayer bead necklaces for my sister’s children.”

“She sounds lovely,” Bruce said. “You were lucky to have her.” 

“Yes, I was. Not that she was perfect, mind you; she was determined one of us would become a priest and she could be relentless when she wanted something. After I left, she started on Pauline. When Pauline married and moved away, it was Piper’s turn, but Pip got all her backbone; she ran off and joined a troop as a freelance apprentice. Ma blamed me for setting a bad example for a long while until Pip’s contract was picked up by my old unit. She’s better than I ever was, going to end up running Shield before too long.” 

“You were in Shield?” Clint didn’t know why that surprised him; Phil had more than proven his competence. “Best damn troop in the lands, if you ask me. They signed up with Lord Braddock and fought in the battle of Manchester Fields. That’s where you were taken prisoner?” 

Phil nodded. “Gidrans overran our position; it was some of us and the third infantry out of Kingshire. We were the lucky ones; Gidrans only had us for five nights before Shield paid the weregild. Those poor Kingshire folks were left high and dry by their Lord. I can’t imagine what became of them.” 

“Lord Lot of Kingshire.” Natasha curled her lips in distaste. “We worked a job for him once. Never again.” 

“Was Gidra already eyeing Triskelia at that point?” Bruce asked. “Or were they still using the excuse of taking back their homeland?”

“It wasn’t common knowledge,” Phil answered. “But Braddock knew of their plans and warned us. Put my medallion in storage; didn’t have the tattoo yet, so they didn’t know. A Kingshire boy … he was barely seventeen … had his Quadra coin in his pocket. They took him away the second day and we never saw him again.” 

“Gidra,” Bruce practically growled. “How a once forward-thinking land fell under the dominion of the Leader … it makes me so angry.”

“He's a con man at heart; if he can't convince, he resorts to control,” Clint said, cutting his eyes towards Phil. “He exploits fear and doubts, gets enough people to sign onto his seemingly logical theology. The rest, well, then he forces them into submission, doesn’t give them a choice. Anyone who speaks up is laughed at, called crazy. Then they become problems that need to be reported and it’s a short step to arresting them and making them disappear.”

“Those who are different represent a threat.” Phil understood exactly what Clint was saying. “And soon it’s the neighboring kingdom that's in the wrong then the next one and the next one.” 

“Because if they stop hating someone else long enough, they’ll realize the truth,” Natasha added. “So much easier to blame a wilde for losing your job than acknowledge it’s your own fault.” 

Bruce pulled the rabbits off the fire and braced them on stacked stones. “Sometimes I think we fear the wrong monsters,” he said as he began to carve pieces. “It’s humans who are scarier than any ogre or gamlough.”

“So true,” Phil agreed.

The meat was better than any Clint could have made; the seasonings made it tender and juicy. By unspoken agreement, they changed the subject as they ate, the Eastern road too close for comfort. Clint didn’t argue when they divvied up the watch and he got the early morning slot; he needed some uninterrupted sleep to gain his energy back. So he finished his dinner, checked in with the animals, then crawled in his bedroll and dropped off while the others were still chatting. 

_Find them._

He surfaced, the words echoing in his mind; he’d been dreaming, something about horses and a dark-haired woman and shadows. The nightmare didn’t surprise him -- he’d half-expected to be bothered after the events in the pass -- but it was the plaintive request that left him unnerved and awake. The sky above was a wash of dark, peppered with a smattering of stars; the forest murmuring as a light wind passed through the trees. By the fire, Natasha was leaning against a log, braiding threads and keeping watch. Lucky was a warm lump along his side; Kodo was curled up on his chest, Podo in the crook of his arm. The horses were calm, Bernard dozing on a branch. 

_Help them._

It came from everywhere and nowhere, neither male nor female, and it rose and crested like a gentle wave on the sand. He turned his head, stared into the blackness between the trees, but there was nothing. No monsters, no people, no danger at all. Only the nocturnal animals that made their ways at night. 

Heavy eyelids drooped; sleep dragged him down. Next time he opened his eyes, the sky had shifted to royal blue with pink edges, light seeping over the mountains. He yawned then saw Bruce at the fire and smelled freshly brewed coffee. Rolling up, he stretched his arms over his head and looked around; Phil was packing his bedroll and Yelena was all ready to go. 

“Hey,” he said as he stood. “You were supposed to wake me.” 

“You needed the sleep,” Phil answered. “I was wide awake, so I took the first two slots. Even then I had a hard time dozing off.” 

He started to protest, but he really did feel much better. “Yeah, I did,” he settled on saying. “Thanks.” 

“We get going, we’re less likely to run into any soldiers.” Natasha came out of the forest, wiping her wet hands on a towel. “If you’d like, Phil, we can have Bernard fly east to check for any troop movements that way.” 

“I’m not going east from here; I’m heading up to Providence.” 

“Providence?” Natasha stilled.

“To visit my sister.” Phil missed her reaction, his back turned as he cinched Lola’s saddle. “Her youngest just had her first baby; it’s Paulie’s first granddaughter so she’s over the moon.” 

“That’s where we’re going too.” Bruce, busy pouring coffee for Clint, didn’t notice. “Should be there by noon, right?” 

“It’s an easy ride,” Phil agreed. “Nice views of Triskelia once we get high enough.” 

Connected threads; Clint remembered what Natasha said. A man going the same direction who just happened to be a strong enough believer to fight off shadows? Maybe Natasha really didn’t know what role Phil had in this web. 

“Good. You can recommend an inn for tonight.” Natasha was back on her game, taking her cup from Bruce to sip. 

“I always stay at The Friendly Friar; the family that runs it are very accommodating. It’s smaller, off the main tourist track,” Phil said. 

“Sounds perfect.” Natasha broke her biscuit in half and handed one to Clint. “I prefer the quiet. And maybe I’ll find one of those underground spas. Wouldn’t mind a nice soak and massage.” 

“Don’t know about those, but I do know where the best pie house is; savory and sweet, whatever you’re craving. You’ll have to let me treat you tonight; after all, you saved me life,” Phil offered with a smile. 

Lucky’s head jerked up just as Clint felt the family of chipmunks startle. Before he could turn, he heard the snapping of branches and rattling of leaves. 

“... over here, I’m sure of it,” a man’s voice said. “Just a little way more.” 

“You said that half a candlemark ago.” Another man, frustrated, words sharp. “We are lost, I’m telling you. Even Wrong-Way Wilson knows I’m right.” 

“Don’t bring me into this.” A third man said with a sigh. “You’re the one who let him take the lead.” 

“We all agreed we needed to stay off the road.” Voice one again. “I know where we are, damn it.” 

“Come on, Rogers, admit that you don’t …” 

The man who was speaking cut off as they entered the campsite. Mercenaries. Clint pegged them immediately based upon their broken-in leather armor. As they led their horses into the clearing, their free hands strayed towards the hilts of their swords, not too aggressive but prepared. 

“Oh, hey, look!” he continued. “Someone to ask.” 

Raven hair, tied back in a leather thong, the man wore a dark navy jacket fitted to his wide shoulders and muscular arms. Brown leather pants were snug across his thick thighs and, on just his left hand, he had a black leather glove. 

“Sorry to barge in,” said the one who preferred grey with red accents on his chest piece. His hair was closely cropped and he smiled easily. “Can you point us towards the road to Providence?” 

“We don’t need to bother them, Sam.” The man was taller and broader than the other two. With a chiseled jaw and clean-cut blonde hair, he had a round shield strapped onto his back. 

“Steve thinks he has the directional sense of a homing pigeon,” Navy Jacket said. “Ran into some relief troops crossing the mountain and thought it best to find another route. Spent the night just beyond the turnoff to the pass but now we’re lost.” 

“That’s north,” Steve, the blonde, waved a hand vaguely to his right. “And that’s west.” He waved in front of them. “And the road is that way.” He pointed halfway between the too. 

“Actually, the road’s that way.” Clint pointed over Steve’s right shoulder. “You’re facing southwest.” 

“See, I …” Navy Jacket started. 

“Don’t.” Steve held up a hand to forestall the told you so. “I was wrong; I can admit that, unlike some other people.” 

Sam coughed. “Bucky.” He coughed again. 

“Very funny.” Bucky glared at the other men. “That’s fine. Make me the butt of the joke. See if I help you next time you mouth off and get into a bar fight. No, sir, I’m going to sit and drink my beer and watch you get your asses handed to you.” 

“You have to forgive Bucky; he has terminal hoof-in-mouth disease.” Sam stepped forward, holding out his hand. “I’m Sam Wilson. Our intrepid leader is Steve Rogers and that’s James Buchanan Barnes, better known as Bucky.” 

Clint was closest; he shook Sam’s hand and introduced himself and the others. Not to be left out, Lucky nosed his way between them and gave the man his best pet-me eyes.

“Oh, look at this good boy!” Steve dropped to his knees and immediately began scratching under Lucky’s chin. “You travel with your human, do you? See, Buck, there’s no reason we can’t get a dog; bet he’s a lot of help, isn’t he?” 

“He has his moments,” Clint said, grinning as Lucky rolled over and showed his belly. “Not the greatest guard dog as you can tell.” 

“Dogs love Steve. They recognize a kindred spirit.” Bucky’s banter was all bark and no bite; the three had obviously been traveling together for a while. 

“Bucky would rather have a cat,” Sam explained. “Prickly, arrogant, with sharp claws.” 

Podo took that moment to scamper up Clint’s leg and perch on his shoulder; in his paws, he held one of his pebbles. He reached out and offered it to Sam. 

“Thanks.” Sam took it in his hand. “I think.” 

“It means he likes you,” Clint explained. “He doesn’t give his prizes away very often.” 

_Help them._

The voice came from all around him, whispered in the early morning wind. Natasha’s eyes bore into his back; she’d corner Clint later. But right now, he knew what he needed to do. 

“We’re headed to Providence,” Clint heard himself say. “Why don’t you ride with us?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky was getting pushy; he was ready for the three of them to join the story. I'd originally planned for them to meet in Providence, but Bucky was right. This works much better in the grand scheme of things. 
> 
> There will be more about the Triune gods and Triskelia and Gidra as we start moving into the middle section of the plot. 
> 
> Piper was an agent on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. *winks*
> 
> Sam and Bucky and Steve's conversation pretty much wrote itself. I thought, "what's the cutest meet-cute introduction of these three boys I can come up with" and here it is. 
> 
> Next chapter, Providence! There's another character in the wings, ready to emerge. He's a little pissed at me that I let Bucky get the drop on his grand entrance. :)


	8. Chapter #7:  Hoist a pint and Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrives at Providence and Clint is convinced not all is as it seems. There are conversations, some good food, and all sorts of bits of information to learn before another actor enters the scene.

_ I love to talk about Nothing. It's the only thing I know anything about. _

Providence was what the landed class would call a quaint little old-fashioned town. It was neither little nor old-fashioned but that escaped the notice of those who came to spend their money on maple syrup rubs and salt massages. They saw only the plastered white and weathered beam walls, steepled roofs and ornate scrollwork around the center, the bright blossoms in planters, and full windows of artisan stores. A facade of luxury and mask of simpler times hid the people who lived and worked there, the areas where families were raised and daily life was more about making ends meet than rest and relaxation. 

Nestled between the last of the hills and the first of the steeper mountains, the town sprawled across various elevations. Base camps for the sherpa led hikes to the peaks were the highest; the best views were reserved for expensive hunting lodges and chalets. Locals made their homes further out from the picturesque market square, tucked into hillsides in narrower streets where church and grocer gave way to farms and homesteads. Roofs there were slanted to avoid ice dams and reinforced to support the feet of snow winter could bring. 

The ride through the hills had been surprisingly easy; not a single sighting of Gidran soldiers marred their crossing of the main road. Once on the Providence spur, they had the trail entirely to themselves for three candlemarks. After the travails of yesterday, Clint kept an eye out for monsters or some other danger, but all he got was good-natured stories from the three mercenaries about their exploits, each one a bigger whopper than the last. Rogers, it seemed, had a penchant for jumping out of windows and surviving. Barnes had a murderous resting face, according to Rogers, and scared enemies with a glare. Wilson, for all he appeared to be the mediator of the trio, was as reckless as Rogers, if not more so, admitting to trying to fly with wooden wings. An enabler, that’s what Barnes called him, who not only didn’t object to crazy plans but was usually the first to volunteer. 

They were excellent road companions; they didn’t monopolize the conversation, instead encouraging others to join in the fun. Phil told a tale about blowing a hole in the side of the ship to save everyone on board. Bruce had a funny one about an activated speaking stone and a closed-door meeting; for her part, Natasha told about the fighter who thought he could teach her a few “tricks.” When his turn came, Clint went with the time he’d broken both arms and been trapped in an outhouse during a fight, embellishing the embarrassing parts; Barnes was smiling by the time he was done, Rogers laughing, and Phil’s eyes sparkling. 

In all, it was an enjoyable morning; Clint found he was loath to part as they reined in their mounts at the town gates and prepared to go their separate ways. He’d heard no more of the strange whispering since they set off; he was ready, at this point, to chalk it up to exhaustion and Bruce’s herbal tisane. 

“The inn is this way,” Phil said, pointing to the left. “I’m stopping there first.” 

“Right then,” Rogers said, his cheery smile falling away. “Thank you. For the directions. And the company.” 

“Yeah.” Wilson agreed. His gaze flitted to the other two. “Appreciate it.” 

Barnes settled for an abrupt nod. 

_ Save them. _

Clint sighed; Natasha raised an eyebrow his way. She spread her fingers and he saw the red threads spanning the gaps between them; it seemed she was feeling something too. 

“What’s your plan?” he abruptlyasked. “I bet Barnes is hankering for a syrup bath.” 

“Ew.” Barnes wrinkled his nose then the smile returned to his face. “That’s for ladies and lords; I’ll settle for a hot bath with plain old water.” 

“He likes lavender scents,” Rogers tossed out. “But I doubt the places we can afford will have more than cold ewers and a semi-clean towel.” 

“We’re sort of between employers at the moment,” Wilson explained. “Heard there were security jobs to be had here.” 

“Son of the owner of the inn we’re headed to does private judiciary work; he might know who to put you in touch with,” Phil said. “And there are some rooms over the stables that are basic but warm if you’re interested.” 

“Nah, we can’t put you out any more than we have already.” Barnes’s blue eyes turned away. “We’ll get by. We always do.” 

“Buck’s right. It’s nice of you to let us tag along this far.” Rogers’ shoulders slumped, a grey pallor washing his features. 

“Oh for God’s sake.” Natasha’s tone was sharp and pointed. “Is this some sort of male posturing bullshit? You need a job, Phil’s friend might help, and you might even get to wash the stink of who knows how many days off.” 

“I would like to be clean and maybe eat a meal that comes on a plate from a full kitchen,” Wilson said.

“It’s not that we’re not grateful,” Rogers began. 

“Oh, stop. She’s right. Let’s go talk to this guy,” Bucky argued. “Anyplace warm’s a welcome change.” 

As they followed Phil, only Rogers showed any hesitation, brow creased with worry. Clint watched him from the corner of his eye while they navigated the street. Something was hovering, just outside of Clint’s senses. Not animal or monster; he couldn't put a name to it. Barnes and Wilson were joking, seemingly unperturbed, but Rogers was different. 

The street was busy, stores doing a brisk business from the wealthy patrons who walked under their eaves. After the third turn, they passed a large inn that boasted a wide veranda and balconies spread over the sprawling building with a cobbled entryway led to extensive stables. A carriage was being loaded with trunks, young boys running back and forth from the inn; on the stone stairs, a woman waited, dressed in orange silk and elaborate brocade, a small fluff of a dog tucked in the crook of her arm. It perked its ears as Clint rode by; the owner sniffed and turned so the dog’s face was away from the road.

“Glad we’re not stopping there,” Wilson muttered. “Bucky’d be in a fight before we got to our room.” 

“Nah, Steve wouldn’t make it past the taproom,” Barnes argued. “Did you see the boys’ shoes? Holes in the soles.” 

A flash of anger lit Rogers’ blue eyes. “Never changes. Poor stay poor and the rich get richer. All this fighting to make a better world and kids still are cold and hungry.” 

It wasn’t long before the streets cleared of high stepping horses and parading couples, giving way to workers in various liveries and locals going about their business. They left the fancier restaurants behind as they traveled a road that slowly wound up a hillside; a bakery with fresh loaves in the window was next to a butcher, living quarters above with windows open to catch the breeze. 

The Friendly Friar covered a whole block; the street front entrance, a single door, only had a low hanging sign to announce its presence. On the oval, a brown-robed friar held a mug of ale in one hand and leg of mutton in the other, his dark face smiling in welcome. An alley between buildings led to the central courtyard; all the buildings faced inward, a mishmash of different sizes and architectural styles, some old and others relatively new. The stable was two levels and ran parallel to the main tavern; a single-story kitchen was made of stone walls and tucked into the corner, smoke rising from the double chimney. 

“The whole family lives here,” Phil explained as he swung out of his saddle. A girl, close to her teen years, took Lola’s reins and reached for Yelena’s as Natasha held them out. Her boots were worn but in good condition, Clint noticed, and she wore a leather vest and fitted gloves. So too did the other two stable hands who came to help; they all bore the same nose line and slim builds. “Been running this place for five generations.” 

“Phil!” A man came down the stairs from the tavern’s wide doors. “I thought that was Lola I saw on the street. Finally gotten free to come see the new baby, eh?" 

Middle-aged with some silver smattered through his close-cut hair, the man carried his weight around his stomach, a bit of a belly rolling over his apron. His smile was infectious; Clint found himself returning it and Lucky ducked forward, prancing a little to get his attention. 

“And you’ve brought friends.” The man laughed and held out his hand, waiting for Lucky to sniff him before he petted his head. “I seem to remember you said you didn’t have any last time you were in your cups.” 

Phil rolled his eyes as he ignored the friendly jab. “Traveling companions. We met on the road and I recommended your inn.” 

“Now you know we’ll fix them right up,” the man said. “I’m Jerrod Triplet and I’d say I run this place, but the truth is my father-in-law and my wife make all the decisions. I just see them done. So, let’s see,” he looked them over, “a double upper-floor, two singles, all in the main house. And three berths in the bunk room above the stables? That about right?”

“That’s it,” Natasha agreed. “With a window that opens in the double.”

Somehow the innkeeper’s insight didn’t surprise Clint; the man had taken in the ferrets and Bernard, eyed Natasha, and hadn’t so much as blinked. This was a man who dealt with all types and had probably seen a lot more than he let on. 

“Trip doesn’t happen to be around?” Phil asked as they gathered their bags. “Wanted to introduce him; these three are looking for work and I thought he’d know if there were any openings.” 

“You boys work with a troop?” Jerrod asked. 

“Yes, sir.” Rogers straightened his shoulders and practically fell into parade rest. “Done guard work, freelance, and troop contract.”

“Aye, Trip’ll have something for you,” Jerrod said. “Snowbirds are migrating early this year and all leaving at the same time. They can’t find enough seasoned fighters to provide protection. He’ll be back before sundown; I’ll tell him to find you.” 

“Thank you.” Wilson’s words were heartfelt. 

“Come on, then, let’s get you to your rooms; will you be wanting your baths now or later?” 

“Now’d be good for me,” Barnes replied. 

Jerrod waved and a different youngster popped out of the door. “Take these gentlemen to the corner bunk and see them settled.” 

“Yes, Uncle Jerrod,” the boy said. “Follow me.” 

Clint threw one last look the others’ way; Wilson was chatting with the boy while Barnes paused to shift his heavy pack to the other shoulder. Rogers, though, was staring up at the sky where clouds scuttled across the expanse of blue; he took a breath, closed his eyes for a heartbeat, then headed towards the stables, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. A light wind ruffled Rogers’ hair, carrying the whispered words. 

_ Find her. _

A cold nose touched Clint’s hand. Lucky woofed to get his attention; Natasha was waiting, ready to go inside. He turned and jogged up the steps, ready to shake off the dust and fill his stomach and talk to her alone. 

* * *

“Her?” Natasha looked up from her pack; she’d dropped it in a chair and was digging out a set of fresh clothes. “Now the voice wants you to find a woman?” 

“That’s what I heard.” He’d flopped on the bed after he’d opened the window for Bernard and gotten comfortable, feet hanging off the edge. They’d been hashing things out while she spun threads and set wards. “It’s no coincidence that the three of them showed up when they did; I think Rogers knows something.”

“About the voices? Or about the other things?” she asked. “We’ve got a lot of threads and they might not all connect. Maybe we’re caught in more than one web.” 

Clint had been thinking about that all morning. “Whatever’s stirring up the creatures … the pain that raven thing was feeling … the red widows being forced out of their dens … you know what it reminds me of? Those carp, the ones that were all the rage among Salvin nobles a few years ago. They brought them all the way from Betien, kept them in tanks as decoration, then dumped them in the river when they went out of fashion.” 

“Where they promptly ate up all the smaller fish and the green algae blooms. Invasive species, that’s what they’re called.” Natasha laid her hairbrush on the side table. “Like the blighted areas; anything that comes within their reach is affected.” 

“Exactly, but now it’s expanding. Driving creatures out of their comfort zones, hurting them, twisting them. The shadows were already in the pass; whatever this is stirred them up.”

“They were more substantial, that’s for sure.” She pulled a small tin with her soap out of a pocket. “Once I’m done with my bath, we’ll track Stark down and roust him out of his workshop, see what light he can shed on all this. He may know if it’s a single spell or a larger, concerted effort.” 

Clint sat up, brain bouncing from detail to detail to conclusion. “The Gidrans. Relief troops, more patrols, guards on the roads. You think they might be behind it. It’s the Leader’s brand of evil, alright. People will be too busy surviving creature attacks to notice what they’re doing until it’s too late. But I didn’t think they had that kind of power.” 

“Maybe they’ve learned some new tricks.” 

A maid knocked on the door, ready with Natasha’s bath. They set up a copper tub and poured hot water into it before putting two more ewers on the hearth to stay warm before they left.

“Go eat,” Natasha told him, slipping her shirt over her head. “Leave Lucky and Bernard on guard; the communing may take a while.”

Clint tucked the ferrets in their pouch and headed out. 

“Oh, and if you run into Bruce, see if you can get him to talk about his headaches. He thinks they’re related to the weather,” she said. 

“I’ll be gentle, promise,” he told her. 

Downstairs, the tavern’s main area was really three rooms; one was L shaped with fireplaces on two walls and a stage in the shared corner. A second was connected by an arched opening and held the bar, a magnificent piece of furniture, dark wood polished to a high gleam and spanning a whole wall. The third had doors that could be shut but were propped open; it was tucked opposite the stage and bar. The noise level dropped significantly inside the smaller space as Clint followed the glimpse of Bruce’s dark curls. When he got closer, he saw Rogers already seated with a mug in hand. 

“Clint, join us.” Bruce nudged a chair out for him; Clint slung a leg over and settled in, waving at the staff and pointing to Steve’s mug. “We’re ordering some lunch if you have the time.” 

“Nat will soak until the water goes cold,” Clint said as he eyed the filled bread bowls that arrived at the next table. “The soup looks good.” 

“Bucky’s the same.”Rogers chuckled. “Sam had the middle watch and never got back to sleep so he’s sacked out. For me, the food’s the bigger draw.” 

The staff person arrived with Clint’s drink and they all ordered the soupl.

“So, Phil’s off to visit his family,” Bruce said. “I was just telling Steve that Phil was a member of Shield for a while.” 

“Coulson had the look about him of a man who knows his sword work; you can tell by the way he sits in his saddle,” Rogers said. 

Something about the thought of the two of them talking about Phil didn’t sit right. Clint leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, letting just a hair’s breadth too much time pass before he answered. “Could say the same about you,” he drawled. “You were in a troop too, weren’t you?” 

Bruce shifted in his seat, cutting a glance at Clint, picking up on the change in tone. 

“Three different ones, actually,” Roger answered, weighing Clint with his gaze. “Buck and I grew up together in a place called Blymon on the poor side of town; couldn’t buy our way into an apprenticeship, so the town guard was the best option. Worked that long enough to get some basic training then we ran off and joined a little troop run by a guy named Phillips. Didn’t even have a name; we did local-for-hire shit that barely paid enough to eat. We left that for The Fighting Marauders; stayed until they broke up when the leads disagreed about working a questionable job. Longest time was in the Howling Commandos; that’s where we met Sam. Three of us clicked and we’ve been watching each other’s backs ever since.” 

There were far too many fighting troops to know them all and the fact that Blymon was a town on the outskirts of the big northern city of Zuri-upon-Hull meant there would be lots of local bands working for various entities. Clint had heard of the Howling Commandos; unlike Shield which had a hierarchy, ranks, and constant influx of new members, the Commandos passed their name from one group to another and operated without formal leadership. There had been two of them in the battle where Phil had been captured, fighting for different Lords. 

“That what you wanted to know?” Rogers bluntly asked. “I can get you recommendations from past employers if you need more.” 

“Clint didn’t mean anything.” Bruce tried to soothe things over. 

“Yeah, he did, but that’s okay.” Rogers took a sip from his mug then grinned over the rim. “I’d be asking the same questions if our positions were reversed.”

“But you didn’t ask me …” Bruce paused. “Oh, wait, you checked me out before you took the job, didn’t you?” 

“We do that for all potential employers,” Clint admitted. 

“Should know what you’re getting into,” Rogers agreed. “We do the same.” 

“I guess I really have been sheltered the last few years,” Bruce admitted. “Spend most of my time in the lab. Maybe this is good, seeing what’s happening outside Malleton’s walls.”

“Welcome, boys! You the ones who came in with Phil Coulson, eh?” An older man followed the server who brought their food to the table. Grey hair circled his head, a shiny bald spot on the crown; he walked with a shuffle of feet barely lifted off the floor, but his smile was wide and his voice strong. “I’m Gabe Jones, and my son-in-law and daughter run this place. Let me buy you a round.” 

The server put the tray on the next table so he could hold out the fourth chair for the old man. Rogers scooted his chair over as their bowls of thick creamy soup were put in front of them along with fresh mugs full of foamy ale. 

“Funny, Jerrod said you and your daughter are in charge here,” Clint said, picking up his spoon. Chunks of chicken and broccoli were covered in a cheesy broth; he blew on it to cool it down then took a bite. 

“That’s because he’s smart. Wasn’t too sure when Rosale brought home a Walloon, but I couldn’t ask for a better partner for her. Of course, she’s the brains behind our success; she keeps everyone hopping with her new ideas and changes to make the inn better.” Jones caught the edge of the server’s sleeve. “Run get us an order of that fried zucchini, Jorge. With extra sauce.” 

“You’re not supposed to eat fried things, Paw,” the young man said. “Aunt Rosie will be mad.” 

“It’s for these strapping young me who can eat what they want.” Jones winked at them. “That’s what you tell her if she asks.” 

“Fine,” Jorge said. “I’ll be right back.” 

“It’s a shame when your kids start thinking they know more than you do, but then your grandkids? Fought in two wars, started a business, raised a family, and now I’m not supposed to drink alcohol or eat my favorite foods.” Jones took a sip from his mug and grinned. “Now, I hear you’re looking for work; you’ve come to the right place at the right time. Those rich lords and ladies are all cutting and running after last week’s visit.” 

“Visit?” Rogers swallowed his soup; he was eating steadily, spoon after spoon. “Whose visit?” 

“One of them Gidran advisors, or whatever they’re calling them this week. A tall woman in uniform with a bunch of soldiers she sent hither and yon. My friend Jacques believes they were an advance scout for a raiding party; I say they were looking for something, sussing out information. Asked a bunch of questions, walked all over town, rode up to the slopes, even went down in the caves. Three days they were everywhere then they rode back out without a by-your-leave. Got the hoity-toities all in a tizzy; they’re leaving in droves and hiring anyone who can use a sword just in case.” 

Bruce visibly paled and put his spoon down to reach for his mug. A long drink and he settled back in his chair. Jones and Rogers both noticed. 

“Aye, I thought it best to let you know. I’m sure Pauline will warn Phil; they don’t make a big deal of their religion but you can’t be too careful these days. The Maudi Temple is closing up and the Shama priestess took down all the signs,” Jones told them. “The Townmeisier says we’re overreacting, that they have assurances Providence is safe, but the only people who believe that are the ones who desperately want it to be true.” 

“We’re just passing through; be gone in a couple of days,” Clint said, breaking off an edge of the brown bread and sopping up soup with it. 

“Ah, I see.” Jones might be old but his eyes were sharp; they narrowed in on first Clint then Bruce before turning to Rogers. “Now you have the look about you. What troop you serve with? I was a Fox then a Howlie until I blew my shoulder and had to retire.” 

“A Howlie?” Clint raised his eyebrow at Rogers. “What a coincidence, eh? So was Steve.” 

“No!” Jones’ face lit up. “I’ve been out so long I didn’t know there was a new team; hell, there’s been so many it’s impossible to keep up.” 

“We were out East,” Rogers said, answering the man’s smile with one of his own. “Troop leader’s name was Jonssano; he was a good man even to newbies like us. Lost him and the other two captains and the team disbanded. Not much call for our type over that way anymore, not unless you’re willing to work for the Gidrans, so we headed over the mountains.” 

“It’s true, then? There’s no resistance anymore?” Jones cursed under his breath. “I was hoping that was just a rumor …” 

“Martka said she needs a new bellow for the secondary oven.” Jorge had a platter piled high that still smelled of the fryer. “And she wants the bigger one with a foot pump.” 

“Fine, tell her she can say I approve.” Jones waved his grandson off. “Blackmailed by my own niece.” He picked up one edge and dipped the breaded slice of zucchini in a red sauce before taking a big bite. “Worth it,” he said, blowing through his mouth to cool it down. “So worth it.”

They were crisp on the outside and soft on the inside; the marinara had a kick to it, adding just the right amount of spice. Clint ate one in three bites then went in for a second, snatching a thick piece. 

“And you boys,” Jones said after they’d demolished two-thirds of the plate. “Any other news from the road?” 

Now they were down to business; Jones, it seemed, was the local source of information, his inn a natural crossing place. He shared what he knew then gathered up stories of the rest of the world; Clint would bet Jones had amassed all kinds of interesting bits of trivia and knowledge without ever leaving this town. 

“We came from Malleton,” Bruce offered. “Road’s filled with relief troops, so we avoided it.” 

“They already at the crossroads?” Jones asked. 

“Phil said Mack is moving on, probably taking Fitz and Simmons with him,” Clint said. “And there are troops on the Middling Road; the Duke’s letting them set up guard points.” 

“That’ll be Whitehall’s doing,” Jones practically sneered at the name. “He’s got a big chalet up the mountain and spends the summer here; got the Townmeister believing he shits gold.” 

Rogers snorted as he covered his laugh.

“Wilhelm’s the same,” Bruce agreed. “If Whitehall says jump, he says how high.”

“So you went through the forest? Cut back over before the foothills?” Jones offered them the last zucchini, but they all turned him down, so he took it. “I worried about Phil on the road. Way too dangerous. Wasn’t sure he should come, baby or no.” 

“We met Phil not far from the crossroads; he had the same idea but ran into some trouble in the marsh.” Clint glossed over the monster part of the encounter. “We came through the Vale and over the pass.” 

“You came through …” Jones’ eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve got a set of balls, I’ll give you that. From what I’ve been hearing, that whole area is the worst it’s been in a hundred years. Blight and monsters and all sorts of whispers about ghosts and dark things.” 

“It’s not for the faint of heart, but if you know the route, you can make it,” Clint said. Bruce choked on a bit of bread but didn’t say anything.

“Un-huh.” Jones wasn’t buying a word of it. “But you wouldn’t recommend it for others, right?” 

“Certainly wouldn’t do it at night. Or close to sunrise or sunset. Or without a guide who’s been through there recently. Like, within the last month.” He pretended to think about it. “Or maybe not at all.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Had a tinker two weeks ago who was whiter than the snow cap which is saying a lot since he’s one of the darkest skinned fellas you’d ever see telling about these big spiders coming down the mountain dragging shadows behind them. Poor fool thought he’d go South that way but gave up and turned back around, came here instead. He swore ...” 

“Bruce!” The voice interrupted them, ringing out in the smaller room. 

They all looked up; if Clint hadn’t been a suspicious bastard and been watching Rogers, he’d have missed the widening of eyes and the moment of surprise that was quickly quelled. 

Across the room stood a man with dark spiky hair, a perfectly groomed goatee. His leather pants skimmed his legs and his red shirt was untied, strings hanging; as he strode across the space, he took off a pair of shaded glasses and tucked them in his vest pocket while his sharp gaze took in everyone at the table, not missing a single detail. 

“Tony,” Bruce glanced around then slouched in his chair. “You didn’t have to go out of your way; I said I’d come to you.” 

Clint blinked. Bruce’s contact was Stark? 

Of course he was. Threads and webs and vibrations. Natasha was right. Again.

“I was in the neighborhood.” Stark waved the concern away then turned. “Clint Francis Barton. And where the Hawk is, Red can’t be far away.” 

“Stark,” Clint replied. 

Kodo chose that moment to poke her head out of the pouch; she saw Stark and immediately began chattering at him. “Ah yes, my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you too.” 

Stark reached out and let Kodo clamber up his arm; once on his shoulder, she rubbed her head in his hair, talking non-stop. Podo appeared only to slink into the open lapel of Clint’s shirt and hide inside. 

“He’s pouting,” Clint told Bruce. “He gets jealous when his sister gets attention.” 

“Speaking of attention, I should be mad you didn’t let me know you were in town, but I forgive you because you brought someone new with you.” Stark leaned across the table, ran his eyes the width of Rogers’ shoulders. “Anthony Stark, wizard extraordinaire. And you are?” 

Rogers crossed his arms over his chest. “Steve, and you’re barking up the wrong tree. I do like mouthy brunettes but you’re lacking the right curves.” 

“Ah, that’s too bad. If you want to dip your toe in the other pool, keep me in mind. I’m equal opportunity when it comes to new experiences.” Stark didn’t seem bothered by Steve’s declaration. He reached for another chair, but Jones waved him off and started to rise, gnarled fingers gripping the table. Rogers leaned closer, and Jones took the silent offer to use his shoulder as leverage. 

“Don’t let me run you off, Gabe,” Stark protested.

“I’ve got to get back to work anyway,” Jones assured him. “If I sit here much longer, one of the kids will come to check on me. I’ll let them see me leave, then slip out back for a cigar break.”

“You old dog, you,” Stark grinned. “I hope I’m into half as much trouble when I’m your age.” 

“You have a long way to go when it comes to causing chaos. How many times have you been arrested? Three? Double-digits, Tony. You’ll have to hit double-digits to catch up to me.” Jones patted Stark on the back. “Are you eating or is it too early?” 

“Never too early for a bowl of Martka’s soup.” Stark stepped aside, leaving plenty of room for Jones. “If she’s of a mind, I’d love some of those warm cookies she whips up.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jones promised. As the older man left, Stark sat down in his vacated chair. 

“Another round!” Stark called to the server hovering in the doorway. “A drink, some soup, and something sweet, eh? No better way to spend the afternoon.” 

Clint sighed and settled in; there was no hurrying Stark. The only thing to do was wait him out until he was ready to get on with it. For once, though, Clint was more than willing to let the time pass; there were questions to ponder while Stark talked and ate. 

What did Sark have that Bruce wanted? From Bruce’s description of the item, it was more academic than dangerous, but Bruce’s reactions belied that point. Why did Stark insist Bruce come in person to get it? Was the Gidran entourage’s visit to Providence the reason for the change or did that happen after Stark had already sent his message? What were the Gidran’s doing in Providence anyway? Why did Rogers react so strangely to seeing Stark and why did his story seem out-of-joint? 

Clint added to the list of things they didn’t know; it was getting longer and longer. Maybe by the time Phil came back for dinner, they might have some answers … but Clint wasn’t holding his breath. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how, when you're on a rollercoaster and going up a hill right before a big drop? That "chunk, chunk, chunk" as you slowly rise? Well, this chapter and the next are those chunks of information and it's not just a drop, but a drop, an inversion, a loop and a big twist coming ... check your seat belts!
> 
> Providence is a base name used in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Here, I've patterned it after those resort towns that try to look all Alpine/Swiss/German like Aspen or St. Maritz. Rich people come and go, but it's the everyday people who work and live there we're more interested in. 
> 
> Yep, that's Gabriel Jones, one of the original Howling Commandos from CA:FA. In Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., his grandson, Antoine "Trip" Triplet is on Coulson's team. I'm still not over Trip's fate. Excuse me while I go cry for a bit. 
> 
> And Tony makes his appearance. I'm going a different direction in this story with him, playing with a Stark who's a little older and wiser (perhaps) than the earlier MCU movies. Oh, he's still Tony, don't worry; I just like the idea of a Tony who's smoother around the edges and doesn't necessarily hide behind the playboy mask. Going to make the pairing I have for him really fun to write. 
> 
> Threads are going to start coming together; we're pulling on a few here and tying together some others. Hopefully it will all make sense. 
> 
> If you're looking at the chapter count and thinking, "20? Really?" this is the beginning of the middle section of the tale. We've got a lot of places to go from here and a couple more faces to fold into things. Someone's going to hired our trio as guards, and then there's that voice telling Clint to find her ...


	9. Chapter #8: Savory Pies and Bad Puns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and Tony do some business, Clint and Natasha ask questions, and everyone eats some pie. 
> 
> Oh, and there's more bad puns.

_ “I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.” _

  
  


“You’ve changed your base warding.” Stark waved his hand and made Natasha’s threads glow red where they crisscrossed the walls. “Tighter but more flexible. Easy to bend but harder to break?” 

“Gives more time to react to incursions,” Natasha answered as she spun the last ones and tied them together. “With a tweak, they’ll curl up and trap anything inside them.” 

“I can see that.” Stark twirled his fingers and his own magic wrapped around Natasha’s, tucking between the strands, the gold twisting and tightening the protection. “You should let me study the pattern; it’s geometric based but more complex.” 

“No.” Natasha finished and let the magic spindle to nothing. 

“I know, I know, sisterhood, secrets, eight times eighty.” Stark spread his hands and a golden net arced above them. “I’m the last person who wants to go mucking around in someone else’s powers. It’s how the fractal dimension exceeds its topological dimension; some say that’s impossible but impossible is my stock in trade.” 

“I thought we were here to do business,” Clint groused from his place on the bed. “Not chat about abstract geometry.” 

After Rogers had left the table, ostensibly to check on Bucky falling asleep in the bath but probably because he’d sensed the others were waiting on his departure, Stark had finished his lunch before steering the conversation to the reason he was there. Bruce insisted Clint and Natasha be present, a compromise with Betty to make her feel safer about him going without her. A quick message to Natasha and they trooped up the stairs to the larger room with space for all of them to sit. 

“You only pretend to be dumb, Barton. Geometry, indeed.” Stark plopped on the opposite bed next to Bruce. “All those angles and vectors you calculate on the fly, I bet.” 

“Helps when the employers think they are smarter than you.” Clint leaned back against the wall and used Lucky as an armrest as the dog snuggled along his side. 

“We’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” Natasha said, ignoring the byplay. She sat down cross-legged on the floor. “Bruce, you go first then we have some questions for Stark.” 

“Questions?” Stark’s eyes lit up. “You’ve got new information, don’t you? I knew it. I could tell from the shifty way you didn’t say anything in front of tall, broad and sexy downstairs. Okay, Brucie, we can make this quick. Let me grab your things and …” 

With a quick motion, Stark drew a golden circle in the air; as he spread his fingers, it expanded and Clint could see a workshop on the other side. He reached through and brought out a square box, two books, and a bag of scrolls. 

“And there we are.” Stark let the magic dissipate. “The periwinkle and yew will stay fresh if you leave them in their jars; I’ve packed them with padding along with the acuminata. That was a bitch to keep stable, let me tell you. Mold loves that stuff, but I used a stasis spell; the instructions on how to break it are inside the lid.” 

Bruce took the box and opened it; inside were four compartments, each holding a different colored glass container. “This is great, Tony. There’s enough here to continue my experiments for at least a year; I made them hurry here because I was afraid we’d lose half of it before I could get it into my stasis jar at home.” 

“I’ll keep an ear out for other suppliers to replace the ones out East that have gone dark.” He tapped a finger on the scrolls. “Now these are going to make you happy. The copy of Virchow’s drawings is a little singed on the edges; it was part of the salvage from the Harvey library. The others were cataloged with them, so I thought they might be of some use. I just bought the whole lot.” 

“How much?” Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “We agreed on a limit …” 

“Eight silver for the whole lot,” Tony answered. “The shop owner was more interested in selling me an old burner with copper fittings; he threw them in for next-to-nothing.”

“And the books?” Bruce picked up the top one. The binding was old, lettering faded, spine crackling as Bruce gently opened it. “This is written in Old Escanten.” 

“Ah, now that’s a story. Guy who sold me the acuminata had heard of a young heir who was selling off his mother’s entire collection of medical books. Seems there was no love lost between them -- she was the quintessential hermit, living in a tiny cottage filled from floor to ceiling with texts like these. Ignored her family, obsessed with some legend about a cure for the wasting disease. I tracked the kid down and, damn, what a tale he told of her spending her fortune on ways to part the veil and enter Nevernever. She was convinced the Fae Queen had the answer, a flower that would erase the illness.” 

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one.” Bruce was turning pages, the gilded illuminations catching the late daylight. Along with the faded ink, cramped tiny letters were scrawled in the margins and along the gutters. “Snake oil, kraken blood, fae flowers … so many false hopes..” 

“And too many who take advantage of that.” Stark’s eyes darkened for a moment. “Finally tracked him down and he was more than happy to let me take my pick. Most were useless, basically fairytales and conspiracy theories -- I bought a couple just for shits and giggles; I can always give them as parting gifts to the assholes at the Collegium -- but these two were in the most recent ones she’d acquired, just a week before her death.”

Putting the first aside, Bruce moved on to the second; the binding had once been blue leather, some circular design pressed into the cover, but now it was barely held together by thick waxy thread someone had punched through and sewn up the spine. Inside, the pages were filled top-to-bottom with tiny handwritten letters. 

“I’ll need a magnifying glass to read this.” Bruce squinted, held it up to the light, and sniffed the page. “I think it’s Middle Masta or some derivation of it. Paper’s made with eucalyptus leaves, so it’s originally from the Caerulean isles. The title roughly translates to ‘Spreading of Woe’.” 

“The old term for an outbreak,” Stark agreed. “Thus why I snatched them both up for a ridiculously low price; the kid really wanted to get rid of it all.” 

“So why make Bruce come all the way in person?” Natasha asked. “What aren’t you telling us?” 

“The Harveys,” Bruce answered before Stark could. “He was a well-known scholar who studied magical applications for medicinal herbs. Published a treatise that suggested certain quotidian flora could be an accelerant for mutated esse.”

“Wait, mutated .. what?” Clint ducked when Tony shot a ball of light at him. “Hey, some of us don’t speak academic …” 

“He thought common plants were increasing the appearance of new wildes,” Bruce rephrased. “All kinds of rumors that it was the Gidrans who burned the library as a warning.”

“Right, got it. Suggesting wildes aren’t perversions of nature is blasphemy,” Clint said. “So you were worried about handing this over to some unknown person.” 

“Never know nowadays who’s a true believer,” Stark replied. “I mean, the courier turning out to be a Gidran spy would be a huge coincidence…”

“... we don’t believe in them,” Clint interrupted. “Still, I don’t relish the thought of going anywhere near the Gidran army with those scrolls in Bruce’s saddlebags.” 

“Way ahead of you. Give me your hand, Bruce” Stark said. Absorbed in the book, Bruce absently held out a hand; Stark muttered some words and a transparent gauntlet went all the way up to his wrist. Bruce clenched his fist; the scrolls disappeared. When Stark tapped Bruce’s hand, he opened it and they reappeared. “Pocket dimension. Damn, I’m good.” Tony preened for a bit before he continued. “Now that we’ve lost Brucie to the land of really old words, time for your juicy news. And don’t try to tell me it isn’t earth-shattering because you wouldn’t ask for my help unless it was big.” 

Aware of the limits of his patience and Stark’s habit of asking pointed questions, Clint let Natasha take the lead. She started with the gamlough laying the facts out neatly and concisely. No suppositions or guesses, just a list of what had happened and what they’d seen. She nudged Clint when she wanted his perspective -- the fight with the watcher and touching the mind of the raven creature -- and made sure he described the figures of light he’d seen in the Pass. Twice, Bruce jumped in, explaining the blight patterns and feel of the shadows’ touch. 

“Like a dark night in the middle of an ice storm,” he said with a shiver. “Tiny stinging pellets, frozen feet and hands and blistered sky from a frigid wind. And one of my terrible headaches, with blood pounding in my ears, heartbeat in my temples, and sharp pains behind my eyes. I’ve been having them a lot more lately.” 

“More headaches.” Stark raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Natasha when Bruce waved him off and went back to reading.

They left out some details; Clint felt Phil’s story was his to tell, so they included him only when relevant which, of course, meant explaining how he’d broken up the shadows. Clint expected some witty comeback from Stark about religion -- he gladly opined his thoughts about divinities after a couple glasses of wine -- but, instead, he pressed them to describe what hue the light was and how it moved. 

“Fascinating.” Tony steeped his fingers and stroked his beard as they finished. “Most of it fits with the stories I’m hearing but some of it ... “ He stood up and started pacing. “Maybe I haven’t given enough credit to Rhodey’s theory.” 

“What theory?” Natasha prodded. “Rhodes is usually very level-headed.”

“A few months ago, Rhodey was investigating some rumors down South about an outbreak of the chills when he met this man who called himself a sorcerer and a walker of worlds. Claimed that there was something else going on, that it was all connected. Rhodes didn’t believe him at first; the symptoms were as expected, the same cures and preventions working. It wasn’t until some fishermen brought in the body of a creature with yellow spots on its fins that he began to wonder. It’s not unheard of for a disease to jump from humans to animals or the reverse, but this was a sea monk that attacked a day boat.” 

“Off continental waters?” Clint asked. “They’re deep water monsters, keep to the trenches and lowest points. Only come up when they’re in mating season and even then only cause problems if ships make too much noise or get too close.” 

“And just because the creature was sick doesn’t mean it was related to the chills,” Natasha argued. 

“Exactly what I said. One doesn’t have to follow the other,” Tony agreed. “Could be two separate events.” 

“So this sea monk is like the gamlough and the watcher,” Bruce added. “An unknown disease spreading through the animal population.” 

“Not animals. Monsters.” Stark stopped and looked directly at Clint. “Every example he’s found, and he has a growing list, has been a creature classified as a monster.” 

“That’s not possible. If a sea monk could catch it, so could an octopus or a jellyfish; physically, they’re not that different,” Clint objected. “That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Agreed,” Tony said. “A disease wouldn’t.” 

“So what does he think is causing it?” Natasha asked. “You said he had a theory.” 

“Magic. I told him that’s impossible, but with what you’re saying … Maybe it’s a spell gone wrong, a magical blowback. Could be an unwitting exponential growth of energy; that’s happened once or twice, some new kid, just come into their power, tries a spell and puts too much behind it.” Tony shook his head. “Gods, I hope it’s something as simple as that. Because if it’s intentional, the preparation for casting alone would take months and the energy needed …”

“None of this answers the other question,” Clint said. “What is driving them out of their normal spaces? A sick animal goes to ground; it doesn’t move north or go to shallower waters. Fleeing is a behavior of a creature that’s driven by fear or hunger. And don’t forget, accidental or intentional, we're talking about more than sick monsters; a disease didn’t run the red widows out of their burrows or stir up the shadows in the Pass.”

“And what about the people who got sick? Did anything out of the ordinary happen to them?” Bruce interjected. “Why would the sorcerer claim it was something different?” 

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Tony declared. “I’ll contact Rhodey, see what latest news he has, then what I can find in the books and lore. Someone’s probably tried something like this before; I’ll focus on spells that would affect only monsters as a start.” 

“We still don’t know what the goal is,” Clint objected. “Or who’s behind it. We can’t just assume it’s Gidra.” 

“They can’t pull it off,” Tony assured them. “Their magicians aren’t that advanced.”

“As far as you know,” Natasha said.

“Gods, don’t even suggest it. It’s bad enough, all the military resources they have, but that level of magical capital?” Tony grimaced. “Just the thought makes me need a shot of whiskey. Speaking of which, drinks later? And some dinner. I’ll buy.”

“Phil’s taking us to a pie shop; says it’s the best in town,” Bruce offered. 

“Oh, good. Then I can meet this mysterious Phil that Barton is smitten with.” Tony grinned as Clint sputtered. “Come on, man, you barely mentioned his name and was ready to jump to his defense if I so much as sneezed towards his beliefs. You like him.” 

“He’s a good guy.” Clint should know better than to argue with Stark; it only made him sure he was right. But he also didn’t want Stark to pester Phil with pointed comments. “Leave him alone.”

“Oh, ho, see? Protective already.” 

“Don’t,” Natasha warned when Clint opened his mouth again. “You’ll only make it worse.” 

“Too late,” Clint muttered. 

* * *

“Um, so, I need to warn you.” Clint grabbed Phil’s sleeve and tugged him over. 

“Warn me?” Phil tensed, his gaze scoping out the inn’s courtyard. “What’s happened?” 

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Clint quickly backpedaled. “It’s … I may have invited someone along for dinner and he’s ... “

“A large personality,” Natasha chimed in. “Don’t be surprised if Stark pays for everything. It’s how he shows he cares.” 

“Stark?” Phil’s eyes widened. “Lord Anthony Stark? He’s in town? You know him?” 

“Done a few jobs for him in the past.” Clint skated over their complex history. “He pays well.” 

“I can imagine.” Phil’s shoulders relaxed. “It’s not a problem; I told Steve and the others they could meet us there, so we’ll grab some of the outdoor tables and drag them together. In fact, we better get going. The place will get crowded if we wait. Is Bruce …” 

“Sorry, I’m late.” Bruce clattered down the stairs. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I was reading and next then I knew the sun was going down.” 

“Been a long few days,” Natasha agreed as they started walking. “I’m certainly looking forward to a full night’s sleep.”

“Bed’s are soft and clean.” Phil headed back towards the center of town. “One of the things I like about the place; Rosalie turns the rushes out every two weeks.” 

“What, no hard shafts poking you?” Clint grinned as a blush ran up Phil’s neck. “I kind of like that.” 

“Behave.” Natasha playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t take you anywhere.” 

“Darling, you know I love to be taken.” Clint winked; if Stark was going to needle him all night, he might as well have some fun with it. “I can be very good.” 

“And I thought I was bad at flirting.” Bruce returned Clint’s smile. 

“Just wait until he’s had a few drinks,” Natasha said with a long fake sigh. “The puns will get worse. It’s a sickness.” 

“I kind of like them.” Phil tossed the admission over his shoulder. “They get a rise out of me.” 

Clint laughed. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Coulson. We’ll have to see what we can get up to tonight.” 

They bantered as they made their way through the streets until they turned onto a wider one with late-blooming flowers hanging from the wrought-iron lanterns. Two doors down was a shop with a large window with a case filled by pies of all types, row after row of golden goodness. Phil didn’t take them to the polished wooden front door; he led them into a narrow lane at the corner; it cut through the building, a tunnel barely wide enough for one person. They passed two plain doors then entered a courtyard filled with tables and chairs. A large tree grew in the center of the space, lower branches trimmed back, upper ones spreading over the roofs. Double bay windows were open, people lined up to order straight from the kitchen; drinks came through the open back door. Even at this early hour, the place was over half-full, people clustered in groups and couples. 

“Over here!” Wilson waved from a long trestle table he and the others had commandeered. Barnes was sprawled in a chair, a brimming mug in his gloved hand; Rogers was next to him on an empty bench. “Good thing you’re here; made a woman mad that we got this spot before she did. Thought she was going to come over here, but Bucky glared at her until she left us alone ”

“That was my stomach growling, I swear.” Bucky grinned. “Smells damn good.”

“Well, you picked the best seat in the house,” Phil said. “Musicians stand over there by the tree and this place gets the most shade.” 

“Couldn’t have done better myself.” Stark appeared behind Natasha; she didn’t flinch. He glanced around the table then froze, his eyes widening. “Holy of holies, there’s two more of them. Barton, you dog, where did you find this cache of gorgeousness?” 

“Oh, yeah, I see it.” Barnes eyed Stark from head to toe, his eyes lingering on his face. “He’s a Stark, alright. Not quite as condescending as I expected, but the goatee makes up for it.” 

“Excuse you.” Stark glared at the man. “I take exceptional care of my beard and I have it on good authority that it tickles in all the best ways.” 

“Does it now?” Barnes tilted his head and reassessed, this time lingering his gaze on Stark’s body and zeroing in on his crotch. “Sounds like someone thinks highly of his attributes.” 

“Are you angling to find out just how talented my tongue is?” Stark didn’t even blush at the blatant innuendo. “‘Cause you’re going to have to work for that honor, starting with a name, big boy.” 

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky smiled, a slow and sensual crawl that sent vibrations down Clint’s spine. The man’s charm really was dangerous. “And I ain’t cheap, doll. Gonna take more than pie and ale to win me over.” 

“Pretty damn good start, though,” Wilson said, offering his hand after Stark shook Bucky's. “Sam Wilson and if you can make Bucky smile like that, you’re okay in my book.” 

“Well, then, this night is looking up.” Stark dragged a chair around and squeezed it in between Wilson and Barnes. Before he’d settled, a woman approached the table, servers following with a round of drinks. “And here’s Valeya! The best pie maker in the valley. Tell me you have my smoked trout and leeks and I’ll love you forever.” 

“You’ll get what I have ready.” She put a hand on her ample hip and smiled at them all. “Phil, nice to see you. I have a mushroom and rabbit coming out of the oven right now. Looking at these strapping lads, I’ll add a couple more to Stark’s order. The blackberries are fresh and Bedjan went salmon fishing yesterday.” 

“Val, Val, I thought I was your favorite.” Stark took a mug as the tray went past. “I’m wounded, I tell you. Wounded.” 

“Pauline’s boy is married to my cousin’s second girl,” the woman explained. “Family’s family. But you’re not half-bad, Stark, for a snowbird.” 

She patted him on the shoulder before she went back into the kitchen. 

“Snowbird?” Rogers asked. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that term used.” 

“Come for the summer, fly home in the winter,” Phil explained. “As opposed to those who live here year-round.”

“Most are pretentious pricks who think the world revolves around them,” Stark said, switching Barnes’ empty mug with a full one. He shrugged when Natasha gave him a side-eyed glance. “Takes one to know one, right?” 

“Thank the goddess you grew out of that phase,” Natasha tipped her mug in his direction. “You’re much more tolerable now.” 

“True.” Stark saluted her back. “And why Valeya lets me eat back here where I can mingle with the locals … like Coulson over here, a man whom everyone knows but I’ve never crossed paths with.” 

“It’s not a mystery; I don’t visit all that often,” Phil replied. “I’m that third cousin, twice removed.” 

Whatever inquisition Stark was about to level next was put aside by the arrival of trays filled with whole pies straight from the brick oven, golden brown rectangles with swirls and flowers decorating the top in the same breading as the crust. Valeya oversaw the process and named them each as they were placed on the table. Stark’s smoked trout with leeks. A table pie with chicken, peppers, tomatoes, and garlic. One with salmon and dill. Phil’s rabbit and mushroom, another with cabbage and root vegetables. Each was big enough for five generous pieces. Then came the dessert pies: blackberry, cherries and cream, plum with walnuts and custard, and a gorgeous open-faced mixed berries with a glistening glaze. 

“Eat up,” Stark told them, taking the first slice. 

“Be careful, it’s …” Rogers started to warn Barnes as he snatched some of the table pie and took a big bite. 

“Ow.” He dropped it on a plate and downed the rest of his ale. “That’s hot.”

“Not as hot as me,” Stark joked and Barnes smiled again. 

“Worth it.” Barnes went back for another bite, this time picking up the food with his gloved hand. “Better than momma made, that’s for sure.” 

“She couldn’t bake worth a damn,” Rogers agreed. “But Winifred Barnes’ rabbit stew was famous.” 

After that, no one had to be told twice. Clint grabbed one each from the closest two savories, not caring what was inside. Kodo and Podo climbed onto Clint’s lap, their noses sniffing the air; Lucky quickly learned that Rogers was the softest touch, feeding him little bites of meat. Despite the large amount of food, the pies began disappearing at a steady rate as people cut small portions and tried different flavors. While the three mercs were eating quickly, Bruce was keeping pace, working his way through all of them. 

“What’s your second favorite?” Clint asked Phil as he worked his way through the rabbit and mushroom. 

“Fresh salmon’s always good,” Phil said. “Although the cabbage is filling.”

“I do like to be filled.” Clint winked and Phil almost choked; he’d been saving that one for the perfect moment. 

Phil cleared his throat and then replied, “One thing you won’t find here is a soggy bottom, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, the puns have started.” Stark clapped his hands. “Hey, Barton, it’s all about the dough, you know. You’ve got to make the balls tight.” 

“Flirting, eh?” Barnes stole the crust from Stark’s plate to hear him squawk. “Pass me some of that plum pie so I can check out its nuts.” 

“And here we go,” Wilson complained before taking another bite. 

“Let Bucky have some fun,” Rogers said. “He could use a little release.” 

That got a collected groan from the table and then the laughter started. They relaxed and started trading the worst puns they could come up with. Clint moved to the sweeter choices while Rogers and Barnes were on their fourth slice of savory. 

“Phil!” A whipcord slim young man waved as he crossed the courtyard. A tiny gold hoop glinted in his ear. “Da said I’d find you here.” 

“Trip. Sit, eat. We have plenty.” Phil motioned to the bench. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here.” 

“I’m working the big gathering at the meeting hall tonight, so I can’t stay long.” He scooped up a piece from the nearest platter. “But I can’t say no to some of Valeya’s pie.” 

“That’s the Owls’ bash?” Stark asked. “Sure to be a crashing bore.” 

“Most of ‘em are leaving; this is the last big event, so they’ll all be there. Little bites of food and lots of alcohol. Women in one room and men in the other,” Trip said. “But it’s my third gig for the meister’s office, so I’m officially on the payroll. A steady job will make Ma happy.” 

“Congratulations,” Phil offered as Trip beamed. 

“Now, who’s looking for work? Grandda wouldn’t stop talking about meeting other Howling Commandos.” 

Phil introduced everyone. 

“We’d be glad for any direction you could point us,” Rogers said. “Job’s a job.” 

“Some of these folks might test that resolve, but you can have your choice once they hear the Howlies name. I hear the Van Dynes are hiring; they’re traveling with their young daughter. The Richards aren’t leaving for a few more days, but Johnny’s with them so they might not need all three of you. Then there’s the Asgard contingent; the Queen and her ladies were waiting on the princes, but they haven’t arrived.” 

“She probably has a royal guard; why would she need mercs?” Wilson asked.

“Word is she thinks her sons may have run afoul of Gidran forces,” Trip replied. “She wants to send someone out to find them, but she also wants to avoid a diplomatic incident.” 

“Ah.” Barnes nodded. “Deniability on their part. That sounds like fun; we should check it out.” 

“How is that fun?” Bruce asked. 

“The higher the chance of death, the more opportunities to kick ass,” Bucky replied. 

“A man after my own heart,” Stark said with a laugh. “I may come along just to see what happens.” 

“I’ll get you the info tomorrow.” Trip brushed the crumbs from his jacket. “And I’ll put out the word tonight. Might be other possibilities; pretty sure you’ll have a choice.” 

“Thanks.” Rogers stood and offered his hand. “For your help.” 

“No problem, man. Howlies are family.” He grabbed a piece of the cherries and cream before he left. 

“So, that’s settled. Who’s up for an adventure to rescue a prince or two?” Stark asked. “If you believe the stories, that’s the way to find your one true love. You in, Barton? Romanova?” 

“We’ve got to see Bruce home safely,” Natasha answered. “Never leave a job unfinished.” 

“Bruce.” Stark pouted. “You just got here; you should wait for things to calm down before you go. I haven’t shown you my lab or the new formulas I’m working on.” 

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better,” Phil advised. “If it were me, I’d take care of business and get back on the road before the traffic increases even more.” 

“Yeah, I agree with you.” Bruce aimed the next question at Clint and Natasha. “I’m ready; what about tomorrow? Could we take the road then cut over?” 

Clint could hear the hesitation in Bruce’s voice and he didn’t blame him. No way were they going to tempt fate and take the pass again. “We get an early start and travel fast, we can risk the road until we’re out of the foothills, then cut over to the forest.” 

“The morning?” Tony sighed. “Well, there’s nothing for it but to party tonight then. We can test the inn’s cellars. My treat.” 

Rogers grumbled about Tony paying for everything, but in the end he took his portion of the wrapped leftovers. There was more than enough for the two-day trip back to Malleton if they parsed it out in smaller lots; Clint was glad to not have to worry about provisions at this late hour. As soon as they vacated the table, others took their places and the street outside was busy, a steady stream of people going to and fro. 

Clint hung back as they left, a curious malaise gripping him. He’d only drained two mugs, so he was far from drunk, and, considering how full his stomach was, he wasn’t even slightly impaired. There was no reason for him to be worried, but he was. It niggled in his brain, some tiny thought that had wormed its way into the edge of his consciousness. A hint that there was more than he was seeing, something he was missing. 

“You alright?” Phil asked, dropping back to walk with him as the others laughed and talked. 

“I should be. We made it here in one piece. Found Tony and got what we came for. Have a nice bed to sleep in and Tony’s buying the beer.” The pieces turned in his head, not quite fitting, slightly out-of-joint. “It’s like …” 

“... you’re waiting for it to happen, whatever it is?” Phil asked. “I know this young woman who gets those feelings all the time. She says it’s like a tremor when the earth shakes, but just barely and only she notices it.”

“Animals are hypersensitive, you know. To their environment, minute changes in human behavior, even air pressure. They always know before humans do.” He thought about it. “Of course, it could be my fatalistic belief that life isn’t easy so when things go right, I question them.” 

“There is that, too.” Phil smiled. “I’ve been trying to learn to take the twists and turns as they come rather than worrying about them. Hard to do because expecting the worst has kept me alive a few too many times to give it up.” 

“And I’m glad it did.” He swallowed his apprehension and decided to go for it. “It’s been nice getting to know you; kind of wish we were staying a few more days so we could do more of that.” 

The group had gotten ahead of them; they were almost alone and it was quiet enough to hear Phil’s soft exhale. “I’d have liked that too. I’m never good at timing these things; always coming or going or have previous commitments.”

“It’s not that big of a world,” Clint suggested. “Nat and I move around a lot, sure, but we cover the same ground mostly. If we cross paths again, we could have a drink …” 

“We can.” Phil paused. “If you want to. No expectations.”

They were at the door of the inn and Bruce was waiting on the steps, the others already inside. 

“I’m heading up to the room to drop this stuff off, and Natasha told me to tell you to save her a good seat; she’ll be right back down,” he said. 

Clint nodded and followed him through the door. “Sounds good …” 

A crash came from across the room, followed by a shout and a scream. Chairs clattered as people stood, trying to get out of the way of the man who tumbled over a table and slammed into the wall. Bodies rushed Clint’s way, and they were engulfed in a wave of patrons heading for the exit, Bruce swept one direction, Phil the other, Lucky disappearing into the moving mass of legs and feet. Shoving his way forward, Clint caught a glimpse of a figure raising its hands and aiming a sickly green glow towards Wilson whose back was turned, too busy fending off a man with a sword to notice. 

His knife was in his hand and he threw in one smooth motion, the blade sinking into the figure’s shoulder and destroying its concentration. It whirled, and Clint saw a man’s face, brown eyes wide and scared. 

“I see it all,” he said. “Can’t you?” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The car is tipping forward and the plunge begins. Danger, fights, revelations coming pretty quickly to propel us into the next phase of the adventure. 
> 
> Rhodey gets a shout out here, along with a world-walking wizard. *winks* We won't be seeing them in this tale, but, of course, Tony has his Rhodey. 
> 
> Now we know what Bruce came all this way for ... hmm ...
> 
> Can't you just see Loki and Thor getting in trouble with the Gidrans? Loki being a little shit, Thor boasting, a bar fight ... we just might find out what those two are up to ...
> 
> Yes, I did indeed steal innuendos from The Great British Bake Off! 
> 
> And now for some pies!!!  
> I was lucky enough to visit this wonderful [pie shop](https://strogell.ru/) while in St. Petersburg, Russia. Valeya's place is patterned after it. Here are some pics of what the pies look like to make you hungry. 
> 
> Cherry Pie  
>  Plum and Custard Pie  
>  Mixed Berry Pie  
>  Table Pie  
>  Salmon Pie  
>  Phil's Rabbit and Mushroom Pie


	10. Chapter #9: Fisticuffs and Fame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight kicks into gear but their opponents may not be what they seem. In the aftermath, Clint learns that a good deed sometimes works in his favor and that news travels fast. And a piece of the puzzle may have fallen in place.

_The truth is rarely pure and never simple._

  
  


“The way is open,” the man said as green spindles of magic floated, twirled in increasingly complex patterns. Pupils blown wide with an unfocused gaze, the man was young, late teens maybe; his clothes were tailored, quality cloth and supple leather. 

“The light is so bright” His words were slow, mouth deliberately forming each sound. “But the shadows will consume it.” 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Clint muttered to himself. With only one more knife and the dagger in his boot, he didn’t have a lot of choices when it came to going on offense. Deciding to take the initiative, he whipped the second knife out and threw; it landed true, knocking the young man back. The magic dropped to the ground and spiraled, out-of-control; it licked up his legs and he began to scream, jerking and falling over. 

With him down, Clint had time to take in the whole scene. Natasha and Barnes were back to back, Tony between them, surrounded by assailants. Rogers was bare-knuckle brawling with more, Wilson handling the swordsman. The crowd was clearing behind him; from the corner of his eye, he saw staff ushering as many out of the way as they could. A few were trapped in the corner by the stage, sheltering under tables, menaced by two tall women. More had taken refuge in the smaller room; Gabe Jones and their server from earlier were positioned by the barred door. 

Bypassing the jolting body, Clint made for the two women, opening the flap of his pouch so the twins could jump out as he whistled Lucky to go on alert. 

“Hey.” He grabbed one of the women’s arms and yanked her back. “Leave them alone.” 

The other turned and Clint almost froze. The whites of her eyes were blood red, black veins running from the corners over her cheek and down her neck. When she pulled back her lips to hiss at him, long fangs protruded from her top teeth. 

“Whoa.” Clint barely ducked a swipe of her hand; talons glistened where nails should be. “What the fuck are you?” 

“We are your end,” said the other one. A sharp sting and he staggered back, five scratches on his forearm, red drops welling up and starting to run. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers with her forked tongue. “We will eat your flesh and crack your bones.” 

“Yeah, no.” Whatever these things were didn’t matter; they were monsters and Clint knew how to deal with them. “You girls are out-of-luck. I’ve killed things a lot scarier than you.” 

He opened his senses and entered their minds, pressing through the bloodlust; he found flickers of awareness, waded through the icy stabs of fear, then touched a very human confusion. 

“What …?” One of the women sputtered, shaking her head as if to clear it. As she looked around, her eyes began to clear, red draining away. “Ramfa? What’s happening? Where are we?” 

A surge of anger tried to push him out but he held out, shifting his attention to the other one. He took hold of that spark of life and dragged it forward despite the resistance. The woman hissed, a high pitch that descended to a low moan when she collapsed into a chair, her whole body shaking. The first woman dropped to her knees beside her; now that the veins were fading, Clint could see they were identical twins. 

“Oh, God, what did we do?” 

A loud bark drew Clint away from the sisters' interaction; not far away, Bruce shoved a chair into the path of one man chasing him then kicked a table at a second. Lucky was dancing around one of their heels, trying to grab onto the hem of his pants. The other suddenly reared back in pain, hands flailing at his neck and head; Podo jumped off his shoulder, gracefully landing on the floor, leaving a bloody series of bites on his skin. Drawing his dagger, Clint advanced and waited for a clear shot. Just as the first pursuer’s fingers almost grasped Bruce’s sleeve, Clint’s throw caught him in the upper back and he tumbled to the ground. 

“Clint!” 

Natasha’s warning had him spinning in time to avoid a fireplace poker that whizzed past his head. The arm that wielded it was clad in an ivory shirt sleeve, sewn with multiple pleats at the shoulder so it draped and swished as it moved and tucked under a suede vest dyed bright orange. The person was shorter than Clint by two hands, their round waist cinched in by a brown leather belt. 

“Who the hell are you?” Clint asked as his opponent tried to bring the poker down on his head. Twisting to the side, he caught the iron rod and pulled the weapon out of the man’s hand. “And what are you wearing?”

“I … don’t …” He started to cry even as he balled his fist and tried to throw a punch. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me. I’ll … I’ll …” 

Avoiding flailing fists, Clint flipped the poker and smacked the handle into the side of his head; his eyes rolled back and he slumped, unconscious. Nudging the body with his toe, he saw a red flush begin to recede down the man’s neck. 

“NO!” Bruce shouted and Clint’s head whipped around. 

Pressed into the corner, Bruce was doubled over, his hands covering his head as a man lashed out, kicking him twice. Lucky was dancing around them, nipping at the attacker’s legs, but not getting close enough to do any good while the ferrets had circled Bruce’s head, biting at any exposed body part that came their way to help protect him. 

“Kodo! Podo!” Clint called. “Pocket search. Lucky, fall.” 

The ferrets lept, one on the man’s left arm, the other onto his shoulder. Before he could react, Podo shimmied under the collar of his black shirt and Kodo went inside his jacket. He immediately began to jerk as teeth sank into tender places, running his hands over his clothes but unable to catch the quickly moving animals. When Kodo’s nose-dived into his front pants pocket, he screeched, reaching down with grasping fingers; Lucky used the diversion to bite the man’s ankle and yank him off balance. His head hit the edge of the table with a loud thunk as he went down. 

“Bruce?” Clint knelt in front of the other man. “Are you hurt?”

“Head.” His face was pinched, his brow furrowed. As he rubbed at his neck, Clint saw climbing green tendrils creeping up from under his collar. “Can’t …”

“The muscle trio, Tasha, and your boy Coulson have the rest taken care of.” Stark caught sight of Bruce’s skin then glanced over his shoulder. Gabe Jones was emerging from the side room, his daughter Rosalie coming out from behind the bar now that the fighting had ground to a halt. 

With a gentle nudge from Clint, Kudo climbed onto Bruce’s shoulder, curled along the curve of his neck and buried her face in his hair. She crooned soothingly, stroking her paws through his curls, and effectively hiding the retreating veins of color. Tension bled from Bruce’s shoulders as he absently began petting her in return. 

Okay, Brucie boy, we’re going to help you up ” Stark began, slipping an arm around Bruce. “And then …” 

“Death to all heretics,” the fighter said as he sprang up, knife in hand, and charged at them. 

Clint shoved Stark out of the way, putting himself between Bruce and the downward swing of a sharpened blade. There was barely time to raise his arm in hope of deflecting the blow, but Clint managed to wrap an arm around Lucky and tuck him out of the way before he braced himself for the hit. 

A flying round of wood smacked into the fighter’s forearm, knocking him hard enough to change the trajectory at the last second. The serving tray landed with a clatter against the wall just as Rogers appeared, grabbing the man’s arm and spinning him around. The sword in Rogers’ hand glowed … Clint looked again and, yes, it glowed … and he blocked the man’s next feint, driving him backward. 

Perched at his ear, Podo chittered and put his paw on Clint’s cheek; the scene shifted into the ferret’s vision. Light surrounded not just Rogers’ weapon, the man’s whole body, a thin shimmer that outlined him from head to toe. When he moved, it trailed behind him for a full breath before it faded. but 

Blinking against the brightness, Clint glanced away and saw Wilson’s aura, more red on the spectrum than Rogers’ silvery blue. To his left, Barnes was leaning over one of the attackers, confiscating weapons; he too had a bright outline except for his left arm. A darkness encompassed most of the length from shoulder down to fingertips. 

“Clint? You alright?” Phil was there; he had a cut on his chin but looked otherwise unscathed. 

Closing his sight, Clint realized Rogers must have quickly dispatched the fighter; the body was sprawled not far away, his eyes open and unseeing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t think that guy would get back up.” 

“I’d complain about the bruises,” Stark said as he took Rogers’ offered hand of help, “but considering you saved my ass there, Barton, I’ll let it go. I didn’t see him coming.” 

“Surprised me too,” Rogers agreed. “I saw him hit his head hard enough to knock out almost any man. Thought he could wait until we tied up the others.” 

Lucky whined, coming to heel and pointing his nose towards the body; Podo’s unease filtered into his head and Clint took a step closer to get a better look. A strange shiver ran through Podo; he shrank back, tucking his nose behind Clint’s ear. There, in the middle of the man’s chest, a black spot formed and started to spread, a ripple of magic emanating outward. 

“Dead man’s spell!’ Clint shouted. “Tony, he’s got a dead man’s spell.” 

Stark flew into action. “Get ‘em out,” he ordered Rogers. “Everyone. Far as you can.” 

“Sam! Buck!” Rogers was already in motion, pushing the patrons who’d ventured closer towards the doors.

“Here.” Clint passed a squirming Podo over to Bruce. “Lucky will take them to Arrow. You should go too.” 

Stark’s magic was practically flying from his fingers, golden strands a protective shield he was building. But the black was moving faster than he could keep up. 

“Spell’s … powerful …” Stark said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know if I …” 

“There’s something ...” Natasha stepped up beside Stark and spread her hands, red flowing into the gaps, weaving Stark’s threads into a tighter pattern. “It’s not …” 

“Twisted.” Bruce hadn’t left; he was right beside them. “It feels … sick.” 

Someone shrieked; one of the servers helping with the evacuation jumped and scuttled away as a jumping spider landed on the floor before launching itself Natasha’s way. Sam rounded him up and hurried him on his way. 

“Can you contain it?” Phil asked, taking the spot over Stark’s left shoulder. 

“Not … sure.” Beads of sweat appeared on Stark’s brow. “If it blows, it’s going to be bad.” 

“We’re clear,” Rogers said. He, Wilson, and Barnes took up positions around them. “What do you need?” 

“Power.” Natasha’s hands began to tremble. 

“Take this.” Clint put a hand on Stark’s right shoulder and his other on Natasha’s left then opened as wide as he could, calling to all the living things around them, asking for aid. Bits of energy flowed back, gifts from loyal steeds and well-cared for pets, mice in the attic, and snakes in the cool walls of the basement. Darker tinged from the smaller creatures that lived alongside humans, a well dweller in the next block, and a nest of razorbeaks in a church tower. He sank deep in his own reserves, pulled what he could then let them take as much as they needed. 

“Almost. Just need to …” 

Stark drew all he could and let the energy pulse out, rushing over and under, sealing the spell scant seconds before the flash of detonation. Thick black ichor exploded, the body dissolving, slamming into the red and gold shield. It sizzled where it hit, tried to expand, moved as if it were trying to escape. The heat made Clint start to sweat and he saw flames flicker at the edges of the magical constraints. Then it collapsed into itself, disintegrating, burning until nothing was left. 

“Fuck me.” Stark let the shield drop then sank down into the closest chair. “That was …”

“Insane.” Natasha took the seat next to him. “I need a drink.”

“A round for all of them,” Gabe ordered one of the servers. “And send the constables to me as soon as they get here.” 

“You should have left,” Rogers told the older man. “If that hadn’t worked …”

“This is my place and you’re my guests.” He patted Rogers on the arm. “Howlies don’t retreat.”

“He’s too stubborn.” Rosalie, Gabe’s daughter, was short and round, an apron tied at her waist and steel in her voice. “Look at this mess. I told Trip this would happen; rich kids with nothing to do.” 

Clint surveyed their assailants; now that he got a good look, they were all young and dressed in expensive clothes. “Rich kids?” 

“The twins are Minister Agron’s daughters,” Phil explained. “The one in yellow is the Nedilia heir.” 

“Been happening all season, mostly small things, acting out, but this … this is the worst,” Rosalie said as a woman brought over a bottle and glasses. “One for everyone, Carlinta, then run and get my kit. Best see about taking care of any wounds.” 

The woman paused, her eyes flitting around the room. “But … you saw what they are, Aunt Rosie. Father Leader says to stay away from … their types.” 

“Is that what Klegge is calling himself this week? The same man who just last year was arrested for being so drunk he got naked and went for a swim in the town fountain?” Rosalie didn’t let the other woman have a chance to answer. “What I saw was people who risked their lives to save us. That spell would have taken out the whole block, including your children and husband; pretty sure any god worth its salt would say that’s what matters. Now pour those drinks and go get my things.” 

Clint bit his lip to keep the smile off his face; Natasha didn’t bother, grinning as she reached for the glass, a small spider crawling over her knuckles as she took it. 

“You’re hurt.” Phil touched Clint’s forearm; long scrapes marred his skin, already turning red and beginning to swell. 

“It’s nothing,” Clint assured him. 

“I’ve got a salve in my bag.” Bruce’s face was still pinched but the green had disappeared. “Teeth and claws carry all sorts of diseases; better to be safe. Plus, there’s poison to worry about.”

The two girls were huddled together, faces hidden behind their dark hair. As if she sensed they were talking about her, one lifted her head, her eyes catching Clint’s. Fear flitted across her features, tears leaving tracks on her reddened cheeks. In the back of his head, he heard a faint echo of her embarrassment … no, it was more, a sense of loss mixed with bone-deep self-doubt. Clint felt a swell of sympathy for them; even worse than being hated for being wilde was hating that part of yourself. He didn’t envy their wealth and power; their position meant more pressure to conform. 

“You should listen to him.” Barnes tossed back his whiskey in one long swallow, glass in his gloved hand, then gave Clint a sad little smile. “Don’t want to lose the arm.” 

The constables arrived at that moment, a tall, lanky woman with a long braid, and a stout, older man with a bushy red mustached. On their heels was Trip; he made a beeline straight for his mother and grandfather. As soon as the questions started, Clint knew it was going to be a long time before he got any rest; the first thing the woman did after seeing the tied-up assailants was send for the Town Meister to handle the ‘delicate nature’ of the situation.’ Still, sitting and waiting to be interviewed gave Clint time to examine each of the young people, to make a mental list of who was who, and to listen as the local law did their work. 

“You don’t understand!” the young man protested, the one Clint had taken down with the green magic. “I saw it!” His voice got louder and he grew more agitated as the constable tried to shush him. “He did too!” He nodded towards Clint. “The other side. Through the veil!” 

“I’m sure you saw something,” the constable assured him, her voice level and calm. “But it wasn’t real.” 

“It was!” He surged up with a surprising display of strength, got his feet under him, and whirled to face Clint. “Tell her. Tell them all about the voice, the bearers of the light, the shadows, the truth about it all.” 

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Clint drawled. He really didn’t know, only had growing suspicions. “You attacked my friend and then me without provocation.” 

He stamped his foot and green fire spread across the floor. “Don’t lie. The way is open and it’s too late to close it. They’ve cracked the door and have no idea what’s coming through.” 

“Lord Quoolsan, please. I need you to sit down,” the constable said. “That’s the drug’s influence; once it works through your system …” 

“NO!” A flash of emerald and he was wreathed in crackling energy. “Don’t you see? Soon, we’ll all be laid bare, every secret revealed. Even the light won’t be able to hold them back.” 

“I want to see.” Rogers stepped forward. “How about you sit down and tell me everything so we can start preparing. Bearers of Light. Shadows. The veil. Explain it to me.” 

“You … you believe me?” He sputtered; the magic dimmed and began splintering apart. 

“I’m willing to hear you out. Seen it happen before; prophecy, the sight, it manifests where it will. Better to listen and be wrong than not and it be right. So, how about we get a couple mugs and something to eat ?” 

“Yeah.” The green faded out. “Yeah, I’m hungry.” 

“My name’s Steve.” He led the way to a nearby table.

“Hiraku Quoolsan, but my friends call me Raku,” the man replied. 

“Did she say drug?” Bruce asked quietly, sipping his second cup of headache tea. 

“Want to bet it’s the same stuff they’re selling in Malleton?” Clint asked. “Saffron or Saigon?” 

“Svarog,” Phil supplied. “Damn stuff is everywhere. That would explain the frenzy and the other symptoms.” 

“Other symptoms?” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I thought it gives them dreams and visions, drives them mad.” 

“Oh, it does, but it also encourages …” Phil paused to be sure they weren’t being overheard, “... acceleration of certain changes. I’ve even heard rumors it forces the traits to the surface, pretty violently in some cases.” 

“Accelerate the change?” Tony's eyes widened. “Bruce?” 

“The two guys who came after me,” Bruce said in a mere whisper. “One of them called me a heretic.”

“Two? There was just the one who went boom,” Tony said.

“Two.” Clint backed up Bruce’s count. “The boom boy and the one I hit with …” He trailed off, looked around the room. “He’s gone. We’re missing one and he took my good knife with him.” 

* * *

Leaving in the morning became a moot point. Stark was allowed to return to his home; the Meister acquiesced without question when he announced he was tired. As former Howlies, Steve, Bucky, and Sam were taken at their word that they’d remain for more questioning tomorrow. Once she learned that Bruce was a scholar and friend of Tony’s, she politely asked him to stay in town. 

Despite Tony’s arguments in their favor, Clint and Natasha were greeted with more skepticism, a raft of questions about who they were and why they were here. Trip and his family refused to leave them alone with the Meister, a silent wall of support that wore the politician down. In the end, it was Agron’s daughters who made the difference; after a hushed discussion with their father, the Minister had to only whisper in the Meister’s ear to change the whole tenor of the conversation. She thanked them for their help and finally let them go.

If it hadn’t been for Bruce, they would have slipped out before sunrise; the news of who they were would spread from one side of the town to the other and they knew better than to linger once it did. While mages could come and go and make a living plying their trade, wildes, even those who could pass like Clint and Natasha, were a whole different matter. But, as Natasha said as they crawled in their beds, Bruce needed them and that was that. 

So when Clint woke at first light, he rolled over, went back to sleep, and left the worrying to everyone else. A while later, he surfaced, Lucky a snoring lump across his legs and Bernard peering down at him from his perch on the headboard. Eyeing the empty bed across from him, he stretched, estimated he still had plenty of time to order breakfast, and got up, splashing cold water on his face from the freshly filled ewer and tossing on a clean shirt to go with yesterday’s pants. From the less than frantic rate at which Lucky followed, Clint surmised he’d already been fed.

Down in the common room, he found Steve and Sam with Natasha, devouring bowls of oatmeal; seconds after sitting down, he had one of his own, warm from the pot. Around the table were small bowls of brown sugar and raisins and blackberries along with a bottle of the local syrup. He dumped two heaping scoops of each then drizzled the syrup across the top. 

“Sam, he’s like Buck,” Steve joked. “Eats some mash with his sweet.” 

“Like you didn’t pour a ton of maple on yours,” Sam smirked. 

“Here’s another one.” Jerrod stopped by the table and handed a message to Steve. “Bet it won’t be the last; you’re going to be in high demand.” 

“Let’s see who sent this one,” Sam broke the seal. “Lord and Lady Xeona. Oh, they’ll double the Duke of Shanala’s offer no matter what it is.” 

“Jobs?” Clint counted seven messages in their pile. “Everyone wants a Howlie who knows when to pull their punches.” 

“Respectful of class distinctions, as one of ‘em put it.” Steve chuckled as he spooned up the last of his bowl. “Like we couldn’t handled some kids without killing ‘em.”

“I like what that one wrote; what was his name? The guy with the ugly orange vest?” Sam said. “At least he was blunt about it. Wants someone who understands what he is and doesn’t care.” 

“His offer was more than fair,” Steve agreed. “But I’m not sure I want an open-ended protection assignment. You know how Bucky gets if we stay in one place too long.” 

“Barnes still in bed?” Clint asked after he swallowed; the syrup really was the best he’d tasted. 

“Bucky’s not a morning person. He’ll get up when his stomach or his bladder wake him. Me, I know when to let sleeping dogs lie,” Sam said.

“Bruce hasn’t come down either,” Natasha added. “Phil was up and out early, said he wanted to tell his version before his sister heard the gossip.” 

“Ah, small-town life.” Clint was really glad he didn’t live in one; he hated everyone knowing everyone else’s business. “At least it’s good for free advertising, eh?” 

“Actually, we have three interested parties.” She slid the messages over to him. “One’s not far from Malleton; we could swing by after we’re done and check it out. The second’s shitwork; I’ll send them a thanks-no-thanks note before we leave. The third, well, tell me what you think?” 

He scanned the first two -- a strange multiple eyed, doglike creature that was the size of a horse and harrying livestock and a thinly veiled, vague monster story that was really a clean-out-the-town-undesirable job -- then read the last one more carefully. It was from Minister Agron; he wanted them to come to his home for a consultation. The wording raised Clint’s eyebrows; no mention was made of a problem or a monster or even a hunt. Instead, he asked for information, discussions, and advice. 

“I think it’s worth the risk.” Clint handed them back. “He seemed more open-minded than most parents. Might be trying to help them.” 

“Oh, hey, there you are.” Tony burst into the room and strode over to the table. He was wearing the same clothes from last night, his shirt ties undone and tails untucked. Running a hand through his already tousled hair, he spun a chair around, sat down, and placed a small red vial on the table by the syrup bottle. “Got out my alchemy kit, dug into this stuff and you’ll never guess what I discovered! 

“Tony.” Natasha snatched the vial and made it disappear. “Did you get any sleep?” 

“Nah, sleep’s for the weak,” he waved her off. “I started thinking about this acceleration factor and how it might work and …” 

“You had a stash of that stuff?” Steve’s jaw hardened. “Use it yourself, do you?” 

“What? Me?” Tony honestly looked surprised. “That shit affects your mental and physical capabilities. No way I’m risking my brain for a momentary high. Alcohol? Sure. Energetic, all-night sex? Absolutely. But drugs? Nope.” Obviously wired with maniac energy, Tony kept going. “Turns out, it’s damn easy to find a seller if you ask the younger set. I hit up the after-parties and bought some on the second try. Stuff comes in different blends with wildly escalating costs …” 

“Breakfast, Lord Stark?” Jerrod asked, cutting into the flow of Tony’s words. He’d brought a full pot of coffee and extra mugs. Clint poured two, pushing the second into Tony’s hand. 

“Ooh, yes, bacon and eggs and some of Rosie’s hash if you have it? Or if it’s too late a nice bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich will do.” Tony sipped at the fresh brew. “I’m easy.” 

“I’ll see what we can rustle up.”

“Anyway, first thing I did was test the efficacy of the different blends …” Tony launched right back into his topic. 

“Don’t you think we should wait for Bruce?” Clint interrupted. “You’ll just have to repeat it for him.” 

“Bruce?” Tony blinked and looked around. “Is he still in bed? Has someone checked on him? Maybe I should …” 

“The twins are with him.” Clint put a hand on Tony’s arm as he started to rise. “He’s fine.” 

“Ah, I see; he’s trying to steal the ferrets’ from me. Well, wait until they see what I have for them; I’ve been keeping the leftover bits and bobs from stones and metal I’ve been using. All sorts of pretties,” Tony said as he sat back down. 

“You’ll spoil them.” Clint didn’t really mind Stark’s largesse when it was directed to his friends. 

“Don’t hear you complaining about Mr. Wide Shoulders over there feeding Lucky under the table.” Tony objected. Steve managed to look bashful at being caught out. “Speaking of, where’s tall, dark, and handsome? Is he still in bed? I need that image in my head.” 

“He’s a sprawler,” Sam supplied. “Takes over the whole space.” 

“Please tell me more.” Tony leaned forward. “Since it looks like my news has to wait, I can’t think of a better way to pass the time than eat crispy pig and talk about who sleeps in the nude.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the first drop ... get ready for a twist and an inversion. 
> 
> I know I like to use Marvel names for characters, but all the young wealthy kids here are my own inventions as are their Wilde abilities. 
> 
> To be clear: a Wilde is a person with "super" human abilities, i.e. beyond the range of normal; they can range from talking to animals (Clint/Dreagst), magic that comes from communing with spiders (Natasha/reditch), having animalistic physical characteristics (the Agron girls/snakes), to Raku's clairvoyance/sight. Wilde traits are assumed to be naturally occurring (that's controversial) and can emerge at various stages. Mages, on the other hand, are primarily people with the ability to manipulate magic who have been trained and education in its use; Raku is both a mage and a wilde. And, yes, there's a lot of cultural/religious/economic/etc baggage around who gets deemed a Wilde and who is respected as a mage. We'll be exploring this further in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Kodo, Podo, and Lucky got to shine in this chapter! I've been looking forward to putting their talents on display. 
> 
> The use of last names has been intentional; this story is written from Clint's POV and I've picked the moments when he stops thinking "Rogers" and thinks "Steve". With Phil and Bruce, they both asked to be called by their first name; here, Clint has fought with the others, so I shifted to reflect that. 
> 
> Thought I'd forgotten that drug from Malleton, did you? Hehehehehehehehehehehehe ... (imagine my best evil fanfic writer pulling out a seedling from chapters back and waving it in the air). Oh, ho, I've forgotten nothing!
> 
> Not a lot of Phlint in this chapter ... but that's about to change ...


	11. Chapter #10: Stewards of Light and Hands of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trap is set, some truths are revealed, and Clint's world gets rattled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through! Things take a turn here as we shift into high gear. Things are coming together in the next few chapters to set up the race to the end. 
> 
> I did mention this was a slow burn, right???

_“A true friend will stab you in the front.”_

  
  


“Okay, okay, we’re almost there.” Clint laughed as Lucky danced in a circle, so happy to be outside. “You can run to your heart’s content soon.” 

He’d patiently sat through Tony’s narrative of his examination, nodding in all the right places, and letting his mind wander over the in-depth explanations; he got the gist of what Stark was saying but felt no need to understand exactly how it worked. Mostly, the news wasn’t surprising -- the herbs and plants were the usual choices for getting high -- but there were two elements that were. Stark had identified a compound that he wasn’t familiar with and needed Bruce’s help in tracking down what it was; for neither of them to know it meant it must be rare or new. Then there was Stark’s assurance some sort of magic had to be involved to make the formula work the way it did … and the fact that he didn’t know what spell was being used. 

At the point when they got out parchment and began writing numbers and symbols, Clint took Lucky’s growing restlessness as a reason to escape; with Bernard on his shoulder and Lucky at his heels, he asked Jarrod where an open green space was and set off to let them both stretch their wings and legs. The walk did him good too; once he got further towards the edge of town, he could sense the local denizens more clearly, the bears roaming the hillside and deers keeping away from hunting areas. Small as Providence was, it was still too stifling being inside all the time. With that, he agreed with Lucky and Bernard. 

The green was a large rectangle bordered by streets on three sides; a bandstand filled the short end, across from a two story building that housed some municipal offices. The far end gave way to forest on a rising elevation; the trampled ground near the stand shifted to grass then brush. Jarrod had mentioned they held farmer’s markets once a week along with a spring planting, summer solstice, and harvest festival. None of that mattered to Lucky; as soon as his paws were in the grass, he began to run, stopping to roll onto his back, wiggle a few times, then jump up and dash around again. 

Clint chuckled at his antics; the pure joy Lucky broadcast was infectious. Shifting Bernard to his arm guard, Clint helped launch the hawk into the air, wings spread wide, flapping until he caught a crosswind and glided in a widening circle. Keying off of Clint’s senses, Bernard headed for the stream where trout were plentiful, intent on catching a meal. 

“Hey, boy, you ready?” Clint picked up a stick he found, tore off the leaves, and waved it back and forth, grabbing Lucky’s attention. The dog dropped his front legs and watched, tail wagging as he prepared to spring. Arcing the stick up, Clint sent it spinning toward the other end of the green, laughing out loud as Lucky tore after it, turning on a dime as it started to come down, overshooting where it landed, and doubling back. He brought it and dropped it at Clint’s feet, ready for another throw. 

Sharing between the two, Clint went flying high with Bernard one minute then running fiercely with Lucky the next. It had taken him years to realize that life, while complicated and messy, was, ultimately, very simple. He’d once heard a mystic down in the Southern Ocean say there was only now, no yesterday, no tomorrow; the key was to experience it fully and not get lost in looking back or worrying forward. Made sense to him in ways more established religions with all their rules and thou shalt nots ever did. Be good to others, take what’s given to you, and enjoy the moment. Bad shit happened … and Clint sometimes thought he had more than his fair share of it … but so did good. 

_“Find her.”_

Clint was mid-throw when he heard it and forgot to let go of the stick; Lucky came back with a whine as Clint lowered his arm. 

_“Help them.”_

“What the fuck?” Clint looked around but the voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. 

A flicker in the treeline, shadows that shifted and reformed. 

“Who are you?” He stared at the movement as a figure formed. It stepped out onto the grass and wavered in the afternoon breeze. “What the hell are you?” 

_“The way is open.”_

“That’s what that kid said last night.” Clint put a hand on his knife hilt as Lucky came to heel, gazing at the shadow. That the dog wasn’t growling pushed Clint to keep talking. “What does that have to do with Steve and Sam and Bucky?” 

_“Stewards.”_

He really hadn’t expected an answer. “Stewards. Keepers? Agents? Bearers … that’s the phrase he used … bearers of ... “

_“They cannot stand alone.”_

“Against the shadows, yeah, I got that. But you’re a …” 

A blaze flared and the dark became bright, the figure bursting apart as Clint shut his eyes against the light. 

_“What is hidden shall be revealed.”_

By the time Clint could focus again, the figure was gone. Lucky barked twice, circled around Clint’s feet then barked again. “You and me both, Luck. You and me both,” Clint told the dog as he took first one breath and then another. Doors and secrets and Stewards? Why was whatever this was talking to him? 

He could stew over it, and probably would have for a while longer, but Bernard circled down and Clint held up his arm for him to land. Stomach full, the hawk began cleaning its talons, supremely unimpressed with Clint and Lucky’s odd moods. The best response was to head back to the inn and corner Steve, see what he’d learned from Raku last night and what he’d admit about all of this. Wouldn't be hard to find him; they were with Trip, going over the job offers, making a list of pros and cons about which ones to interview. 

“Clint?”

He made it two blocks before Phil appeared in front of him; standing next to him was a woman with the same facial features, a few years older than him and a couple of inches shorter. So deep in thought, Clint had missed their approach. 

“Phil.” Clint bowed his head to the woman. “And you must be Pauline. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine.” Pauline flashed her brother a look, the same smug grin Phil gave when Clint made a particularly terrible pun. “I was hoping to meet you before Phil ran off again; I wanted to thank you for saving his life. Going into the woods without a guide? Sometimes I think Piper got all the common sense in the family.” 

“She did,” Phil agreed; from his answering smile, it was clear he was fond of his sisters. “No argument there. And you got all of her intelligence.” 

“True.” Pauline turned her assessing eyes to Clint. “But Phil has her heart, so I think that evens out. He cares deeply and is very loyal once he gives his allegiance.” 

“Don’t start, Paulie,” he said, leaning down to pet Lucky. “Clint’s leaving soon so you can keep your romantic machinations to yourself.” 

“Can’t blame me for trying. I’d like to see you happy now that you're settled. Maybe then you’d visit more often and stay longer. I worry, you know,” Pauline replied. 

“I can take care of myself.” Phil had obviously had this argument with his sister before. “And it’s too dangerous to stay more than a day or two.” 

“I know, as soon as you finish, you’ll go. Such a slave to duty, my brother.” She huffed but clearly proud of him. “Maybe you can ride back with Clint and his friends. They can probably help you avoid those army types.” 

“He’s welcome company,” Clint assured them. “Lucky would be glad to have someone else to slip his scraps.” 

“See, Phil, wouldn’t it be nice? I’ll feel better knowing someone’s watching your back. Now, go finish things up.” 

“I’ll walk you home,” Phil said. “And think about what I said. We’ll talk more later.”

“You can see the door from here; I’ll be fine.” She patted Phil on the shoulder. “I expect to see you for supper.”

They waited as she walked down the cross street; the house she entered was a two-story affair with stone walls on the first floor and lathe and plaster on the second. Once she was inside, they began to walk, side-by-side, back toward the inn. 

“So, where are the twins? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without them.” 

“Tony brought them each a pouch full of things from his workshop. He keeps the excess metal or stone, polishes it up, and saves it for them. They were organizing and sorting through it and I didn’t want to tear them away from their loot,” Clint said. 

“I can’t say I blame them.” Phil chuckled. “Stark’s largesse is famous around here; he funded a healer’s cottage after some kids were caught in young mage’s fire spell gone wrong, pays the salaries of a full second rank and a trainee.” 

“That’s Stark for you. He’s mellowed in the last few years; Stane’s attempt to get him voted out of the Collegium was a surprise, but Tony realized he had to think more about the world beyond his workshop walls. Still a pain-in-the-ass and has to have the last word.” 

They turned a corner and Clint felt a tingle at the base of his skull; he casually surveyed the street, took note of the people passing, but nothing raised his suspicions. He chalked it up to the strange events at the park; he was running hot, his senses still settling as his brain circled the implications of what the shadow … light? … had intimated. 

“... seem like opposites; Bruce is so quiet and calm. Must be interesting to watch them together, Stark talking a mile a minute and Bruce thinking things through,” Phil was saying. “I bet Stark didn’t get any sleep last night; he was going on about compounds and energy output.” 

“I left them hip-deep in tearing that drug into its parts to figure out how it works,” Clint admitted. “When Bruce gets going, he’s just as focused as Stark. You should have seen him yesterday with those new books Stark brought him. He didn’t hear a word anyone said, nose buried in the tiny script.” 

The tingle flared into an ache and Bernard shifted his wings, picking up on Clint’s unease. Fingers flexed and Clint was thinking of the curve of his bow, how good it would feel to have it in his hand. 

“... a real scholar. I know this one fellow who literally runs into walls because he tries to read as he walks; everyone knows to watch out for him, nudge him out of danger. I do enjoy reading, but not to distraction. Too much a man of action, I suppose, to be satisfied with that kind of life.” 

“A slave to duty?” The phrase echoed in Clint’s mind. “And here I thought you were retired, taking it easy.” 

“I tried doing nothing for a while; it didn’t take.” Phil huffed a half-laugh. “Knew I wasn’t cut out for farm life, at least. That would have been a disaster. Found a job in a town where I can be useful and still be home every evening. An occasional trip to see family is enough for me. ” 

“Now me, I couldn’t stay in one place too long,” Clint said as they turned a corner onto a busier avenue “I need open country and room to …” 

A man brushed past him, head down, hood up, walking briskly. The ache became a stab and Clint fixated on the man’s progress up the street, the way he glanced left and right, the sweep of the tip of his sheath that swayed as he darted into an alley. For a moment, light fell on his face and Clint pulled up short. 

“That’s the missing man from last night,” he told Phil. 

“The one who attacked Bruce?” Phil asked as Clint followed the man’s trail. 

Clint nodded; he paused at the corner. “It’s definitely him. What is he up to?” 

“No good, I hazard to guess,” Phil replied.

“Stay low and out of sight; don’t be a target,” Clint said to Bernard. He paused, steadied himself as the hawk launched into the air. “Let’s find out.”

They eased down the alley, Clint in the lead, and Phil watching behind. Ahead, their quarry was moving with a determined gait, weaving through the backdoor stoops of buildings and heading towards the tourist part of the city. There was just enough traffic to blend in; they fell in behind a group discussing prices at the market then skirted around to use a family of five as cover. The man kept glancing back, wary and secretive as he ducked into an even smaller walkway. Almost too obvious, the way he scuttled into the archway; Clint realized they were behind the inn’s stables. 

He turned to warn Phil, but a gloved hand covered his mouth and yanked him into a darkened doorway. He didn’t have time to struggle before the hold was broken. Looking around, he saw the owner of the hand -- Bucky Barnes -- and Trip who’d pulled Phil inside as well. Lucky plopped on his butt, tongue lolling in a doggy grin at the new faces. 

“It’s a trap,” Clint said at the exact same moment as Bucky. “He wanted us to follow.” 

“You stick out like a sore thumb,” Bucky grumbled as he scratched behind Lucky’s ears. “Damn dog’s a giveaway.” 

“He had Bernard too,” Phil added. Clint shot him a wounded look; Phil shrugged. “Hard to miss a guy with a dog and a hawk.” 

“Question is,” Clint pointedly changed the subject, “why? What do you know?” 

“Something’s wrong at the inn,” Trip said, motioning through an open door. A young boy peeked around the corner. “This is my cousin’s boy, Eldren. Tell them what you told us, El.” 

The boy ducked behind Trip’s leg and held on tight as he recounted his tale with a shaky voice. “Bad people with swords came. They made people go to sleep, took Neena and Kalen. Told Mama they’d hurt them if she didn’t come outside. She told me to run, find you.” 

“That was very brave of you,” Clint knelt down but didn’t encroach on the child’s space. Big brown eyes with tears blinked at him then darted over to where Lucky was scooting closer. “You want to pet him? He loves hugs and pets.” A solemn nod then Lucky touched the boy’s arm with his nose and the kid let go of Trip to bury his hands in the dog’s blonde fur. “You know, Lucky needs some water; could you ... “ 

“I know how.” Eldren smiled then looked up at Trip. “Can I? Take him to the kitchen?” 

“Stay in the house, don’t open the door,” Trip told him. “And don’t spill the ewer on your mom’s fresh-baked bread again.” 

“I won’t!” the boy promised as he dashed down the hallway. “Come on, ‘ucky.” 

“A planned attack with at least one mage. They probably hit high-value targets first, take out those most likely to fight back, and threaten the rest. Did you get any more specifics from him?” Phil asked once they were alone again. 

“They’re wearing all black with masks; no identifying marks,” Trip answered. “El’s a smart kid; he likes to memorize heraldry for fun. He’d notice.” 

“They don’t want anyone to know who they are.” Phil began to pace the room. “Where’s Rogers and Wilson?” 

“They took the Richards interview,” Barnes said. “We were supposed to meet back at the inn when we were finished to compare jobs; they’ll be up for fighting.” 

“Even if kids are at risk?” Phil bluntly asked. “Or will they pretend to go along until they see an opening?” 

Barnes thought about it. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I’m the one who’d rush ‘em.”

“But we don’t know for sure, so we can’t count on them.” Phil looked at Clint. “Natasha? Bruce?” 

“They’d have to take Natasha out of play; she showed what she was capable of last night. Sleep spell strong enough would do it. And there’s Tony to contend with; he was with Bruce and Nat. Depends upon the level of their mage and if they had any items to negate Tony’s power. Bruce, they won’t see as a threat.” Clint paused as the thought settled that it could be Bruce’s scrolls they were after.

“Unless he’s their target.” Phil didn’t mince words. “The two men aimed at him last night.” 

“And those guys weren’t with the others,” Trip added. “No one seems to know who they are, according to all the interviews the constables have conducted.” 

“You think they used the melee as cover?” Clint asked. 

“Maybe even started it. Easy enough, give a little push or suggestion to someone already high,” Phil said. 

“But why target Banner?” Barnes asked. “He’s nice and all but …” 

“Clint can answer that.” Phil stopped and turned the full weight of his stare on Clint. The stab of unease multiplied, his whole body vibrating under Phil’s gaze. “Bruce hired him and Natasha to bring him here.” 

He was hit by a sudden urge to confess everything he knew, those blue eyes cutting right through him. Instead, he stuck with the basics of the truth. “Bruce hired us as protection -- the road is dangerous these days -- so he could pick up some herbs and supplies from Stark.” 

“You don’t send an attack force for herbs,” Trip said. “That can’t be it.” 

Phil’s attention stayed on Clint for a few long heartbeats -- he knew there was more than that -- then he let Clint’s answer lie, a stumbling block between them. “Then it’s something else; they may think he has information they want. Doesn’t matter. But this is a big operation to find one man; easier to swipe him off the street; why raid a whole building?” 

“I saw we go in and find out,” Barnes practically growled. “We take one alive to answer questions.” 

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Phil asked. “We don’t know how many there are, where they are, what’s going on …” 

“We have eyes inside,” Clint said.

“And I know how to get in without them seeing us,” Tripp added. 

“And I am really good at frontal assaults,” Barnes said, “that make really loud distractions.” 

“Well, now we have an advantage, don’t we?” The grin that split Phil’s face was fierce. “Clint, give us the rundown.” 

From his perch on a nearby steeple, Bernard had a birdseye view of the inn’s courtyard. Clint shifted into the hawk, scanning the scene. “There are at least twelve people in black with weapons drawn. The others are surrounded, kneeling. I can see … Sam … he’s beside Tony; there’s some sort of dark blue or … magic, they’ve got some sort of magical dampener around him, probably a spell or artifact. Trip’s dad’s there, the three stable hands who were working when I left, what looks like the whole kitchen crew …” 

“Describe them,” Trip asked. 

One-by-one, Clint went through each, giving a quick list of hair, clothes, gender until Trip called a name. 

“The lead guy has a girl with him, young, slim, hair tied back with a yellow ribbon …” With Bernard’s sharp vision, Clint could see the knife held to her throat. “Using her to keep everyone else under control.” 

“Neena.” Trip’s voice dropped, anger settling on his brow. “If anything happens to her …”

“We’re missing folks who should be there.” Phil cut Trip off; they all felt the same. “Rosalie. Gabe. Steve. Bruce. Natasha.” 

“Hold on.” Clint searched for the familiar touch of the twins. He found Kodo first; she immediately let him in, her happiness at hearing from him filtering through the connection. Clint realized she was under his bed; she slunk forward until he could see booted feet standing by the door and a body slumped on the other bed. For a moment, his heart stopped then he saw her chest rise and fall and the tell-tale glimmer of the same dark blue magic. “They used a sleeping spell on Nat but left her in our room with just one guard.”

Phil chuckled. “They didn’t take her out of her summoning circle? Idiots. Can you …” 

“Yeah, and she’s going to be spitting mad when she comes out of it. Sucks to be that guy.” Clint grinned. “Now, let me find the other …” Even as he thought of her brother, Kodo sent him a picture of where the other ferret was. “Oh, good boy. I’m buying you both your own steaks when this is over.” With a blink, he was seeing through Podo’s eyes from his perch on a ceiling beam. “Looks like everyone else is in the common room. Got men guarding all the doors … the entrances are shut … and there’s Steve with his broad shoulders next to Gabe Jones … and Rosalie …” He gave them counts and what descriptions he could; ferrets could only see red and shades of grey. “But no Bruce.” 

“They’ll have searched the rooms,” Phil said. “Is there somewhere he could be hiding?” 

“Where’s Grandda?” Trip asked. “Anywhere near the stage?” 

“Sitting on the edge of it with Steve,” Clint replied.

“There’s a trap door that goes down to the wine cellar. Great Grandda Raph put it in after there was a fire and some people were trapped because the main stairs were blocked. Tunnel comes out behind the racks; we used to hide it and scare each other when we were kids,” Trip said. 

“They’ve underestimated people. That’s good. We can use that in our favor.” Phil gave a decisive nod. “We attack on two fronts; wake Natasha to get the attention of those inside and disrupt the focus of those outside. We get to Rogers and Wilson first then break the spell on Stark. Since they obviously haven’t gotten what they came for yet …” 

“They haven’t?” Trip asked. 

“They’d have killed everyone already if they did,” Bucky answered, his face set in a grim line. “Once they do, they’ll end it fast. I’ll go up the alley, hit ‘em head on, go for the one holding the kid. Sam knows the play; we’ve used it before. And I can free Tony.” 

Phil raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask how, just accepted Bucky’s assertion. “Okay. Clint and I go in with Trip. What’s our egress point?” 

“There’s a connector under this house; we move through tunnels between buildings in deep winter. Comes out in the root cellar. Great Great Grandma had all the access doors painted black like walls -- she lived through the siege of Pottcashi and insisted on hidden exits. There are two ways out -- one leads up to the back of the kitchen, the other into the beer cask storage and up into the bar.”

“Good. We get in, split up. I’ll head to the bar -- there are fewer targets and I’ll have Steve and Natasha as back-up. You two can attack from behind once Barnes here makes noise.” Phil checked his sword and untied it from the sheath. “Any bows in the house? If we can get Clint on a rooftop or in a window ...”

“Da’s hunting stuff’s in the cabinet,” Elden said from the doorway. “And Ma keeps a crossbow above the sink.” 

“I’ll get it,” Trip said. 

The tunnel was carefully shored up with stout timbers with brick walls and packed earth floors, clean with hooks for lanterns. Trip opened the door and went first; for a second, Phil’s eyes met Clint’s and softened. Then he turned, the moment gone. 

_Before, beneath, behind, above._

He shook his head; last thing he needed was some shadowy voice breaking his concentration. This new and very commanding Phil was already distracting. What it meant, he didn’t have time to worry about; saving people was top priority. But later, Clint intended to pin Phil down and ask questions … and that image certainly derailed his thoughts as they slipped into a cool room with storage bins and a musty, earthy smell. 

“Through there.” Trip motioned to a door on the far wall; it was barely discernible, as dark as the walls. “You’ll see the stairs once you’re in the room.” 

“Send the wake-up call and, when you’re in position, signal Barnes.” Phil paused, hand on the doorknob. “Be careful; we’ve got the element of surprise, so don’t take unnecessary risks.” 

Then he was gone. Casting out, Clint found what he was looking for quickly; he touched the mind of a spider tucked in its web in the eaves just outside their room’s open window and sent it scuttling down the wall and over the sill. Leaving it to its task, Clint followed Trips’s lead out another exit and up into the outdoor kitchen. Crouching behind tables, Clint made his way to one window, Trip positioning himself at the larger pass through. 

“... or I’ll start killing every single one of you, children first.” The leader’s voice was high pitched and carried across the courtyard. Still holding the girl, she was calm and unemotional, a bad sign. “Give us what we came for and we’ll leave most of you alive.” 

With a touch, Clint sent Lucky the go-ahead signal; the dog would let Barnes know. For the first time, Clint wondered exactly what Barnes was going to do against twelve … no thirteen now … armed fighters; there was no way he could take them all on single-handedly. Maybe he was …

“Hey, Rosie, beautiful Rosie!” Barnes' shout carried through the alleyway. “Rosalie Tripplet, the best cook in town … Watch it! What are you …” He appeared, two fighters holding his elbows and propelling him into the courtyard. His shirt was untucked and he weaved as they shoved him forward. “What’s going on?” He slurred the edges of his words. “I just want some of Rosie’s venison stew.” 

From his vantage point, Clint saw Sam’s back straighten and his hand drop to a knee. Nodding to Trip, he cocked the crossbow and readied his shot. 

“Put him with the others,” the leader ordered. 

“Hey!” Barnes protested as they tried to drag him through the barrier of black-clad bodies. When he neared the leader, he intentionally stumbled, reaching out with his hand to steady himself. 

His left hand, now gloveless, fingers of silver and flash of gems catching the afternoon sunlight. 

He closed his grip around the leader’s exposed forearm and, at the first touch, she screamed, an unearthly howl of pain. People flinched at the sound, including Clint. 

Then all hell broke loose. 

Sam was in motion the second he saw Bucky’s hand; the leader’s cry didn’t give him pause. He launched himself at the nearest guard, wresting the sword from the man’s hands and driving it into his shoulder before he spun towards the next. 

As the leader recoiled, she lost her grip on the girl; another man reached for her, but Clint’s quarrel sank into his chest and dropped him. In the time it took Clint to reload, the girl had escaped; a woman Clint recognized as the cook had her in her arms. Two black-clad fighters menaced the unarmed women; Clint fired his second shot and took out the fighter who was closest. A screech rang out as Bernard dived, raking his claws across the other’s face. 

Trip waded in; he favored two short swords and was doing a deadly dance with sharp edges, pressing forward, putting himself between the attackers and his family. Joining the fight, Jarrod and some of the others rushed their erstwhile captors; others rounded up the children and teens and ushered them into the kitchen, Lucky helping with the smaller ones. As soon as they were through the door, Clint stood guard, shooting as many as he could as they disappeared in the tunnels below. 

He tossed the crossbow as he saw the remaining six fighters mob Bucky, circling him and attacking all at once. Drawing his knife, he sprinted across the space, determined to help until Sam caught his arm and dragged him back. 

“Close your eyes!” Sam shouted to everyone. “Look away!” 

An arc of light expanded, Bucky at the center; Clint held his arm up to shade his eyes and squinted as Bucky began to glow, silvery outline with black flowing around the edges. Then he had to shut them, the bright too intense; he half-expected the heat of a blast, but it was cold, the icy bite of a winter wind that blew over his skin then dissipated, leaving him shivering in the aftermath. 

“All clear,” Sam said. “Buck, can you get Stark? It’s some sort of negative magic field.” 

Tony’s eyes were wide as he watched Barnes stalk his way; all signs of the affable Bucky were gone. This man walked with murder in his stride and death following in his wake. 

“Stay still,” Barnes ordered, kneeling in front of Tony. 

Upclose, Clint could see the details now, the articulated joints of emerald and ruby and sapphire, the delicate silver fingers that shifted and flexed as Bucky skated the hand just above Tony’s skin, looking for the locus of the spell. An area on Tony’s chest flared with a sickly orange; clasping Tony’s elbow with his flesh fingers, Bucky stirred the magic with the other, plucking it apart like tearing thread out of an old seam. The magic unraveled and Tony gasped, dragging in a deep breath. 

“Fucking hell. That’s a nasty piece of work. Hurts like a bitch.” He sat back, rubbing his chest, his eyes drawn to Barnes’ hand. “Is that the Hydra’s Hand? That’s been lost for centuries.” 

Blue eyes blinked and sadness filtered into Bucky’s eyes. “It’s a curse, that’s what it is.” 

“Hey, no.” Tony grabbed at Bucky as he tried to withdraw. “It’s fucking powerful magic, sure, but it’s hot as hell. To even have it, much less be able to use it … you’ve got to have amazing stamina and control. I’d love to take you apart, see how you work.” 

“Are you …” One side of Bucky’s lips quirked up. “Flirting? Now? Really?” 

“I was already interested,” Tony replied. “This? It’s the icing on the cake and I’m a sucker for sweet things. And if you want to tell me what to do, well ...” 

The door to the inn banged open and Steve came down the steps, sword at the ready. With a sweep of his eyes, he took in the scene, sighed, and put away his weapon. 

“Looks like you’ve got things under control, Buck,” he said as he approached. 

Tony snickered; Bucky tried to glare at him but broke out in a smile instead. “We’re clear out here. Inside?” 

“All accounted for,” Steve answered. “No serious wounds and no casualties. We captured two to interrogate since I knew you wouldn’t leave any alive.”

Skittering across the ground, Kodo and Podo climbed Clint until they could rub against his hair. Natasha followed, red still fading around her fingers.

“That was some light show.” She tilted her head as she looked at Bucky. “Pretty handy man to have around in a fight.” 

“Aw, ‘Tasha, no,” Clint complained. “I was going to use that one.” 

“And here I thought there weren’t any other people as crazy as us.” Sam slapped Clint on the shoulder. 

“What about Bruce?” Steve kept to the business at hand. 

“Yeah, maybe Clint should go get him.” Tony turned serious. “He was pretty green around the gills when I stuffed him down that tunnel.” 

Subtle wasn’t Tony’s strong suit, but it got the point across. “I’ll get Trip to show me.” 

The wine cellar was huge; they passed through the common room and Clint had caught a glimpse of Rosalie bandaging a cut on her father’s arm with Phil talking to the older man. Trip pointed Clint to the back wall then took Clint’s advice and left them alone. 

“Bruce? It’s over. Everyone’s okay. You can come out now.” He could see the bowed head and brown curls behind a table. 

“I …” Bruce’s voice broke. “I don’t …” 

Kodo shimmied off of Clint and crossed the wooden surface, a tiny paw touching Bruce gently. Clint expected confusion to flow through the connection, but it was anger, a red hot rage, that bubbled and threatened to boil over. 

“Bruce. Listen to me.” Clint came closer. “I know it’s scary, what’s happening, but Nat and I, we can help you. We’ve been through it too.” 

“You know?” Bruce’s head came up. Mottled green veins covered his skin, red rimming his eyes. “All my studies and all the knowledge and I didn’t know!”

“First time I lost control, I was eight. After I came to, the loving Sisters of the Revolution who were supposed to be taking care of me decided to beat the devils out of me. Wasn’t sure which was worse, the damage I caused or the punishments for being wilde.” 

“But how? I’m too old for this.” Bruce was barely holding on, only a tender thread keeping him from giving in entirely. “I want it to be headaches. Why couldn’t it just be headaches?” 

“You’ve probably always had a little bit,” Clint said gently. “Just enough sensitivity to feel things.” 

“Yes. Low-level latency.” Appealing to Bruce’s scholarly side seemed to be working; he visibly calmed. “But they don’t suddenly expand their abilities.” 

“Acceleration. Emergence of latent powers.” Clint said. “Herbs and magic.” 

“But I haven’t taken the drug which means I’ve been exposed another way.” Bruce’s eyes cleared and the green began to recede. “Like catching a cold. That’s it. It’s not a disease that targets monsters. It’s magic that attacks possible and existing mutations. The drug and the disease; they’re two parts of the same thing.” He surged up. “I’ve got to talk to Tony; this changes everything. Hershey’s theory could be the key to understanding how it works.” 

Bruce’s energy would wane; such a powerful manifestation would leave him exhausted once the rush wore off. Clint passed him off to Natasha who was waiting at the top of the stairs; she’d get him to rest. For now, they needed to gather and make plans. They’d have to leave, the sooner the better. Last night was an opening foray and today was the first frontal assault, but there would be more. Tony would have to go with them, not only because he and Bruce were brilliant minds but because he had bought the damn scrolls. Whoever had traced them here had to know his part. As long as they were here, they would bring danger down on these people who had been nothing but kind to them. No, they had to go. 

Everyone was gathered in the common room when he came in. Bucky had slipped his glove back on, but people were giving him a wide berth, only Sam and Tony sitting next to him. Steve was with Trip, overseeing the restraints for the unconscious attackers. Natasha was guiding Bruce and Phil …

Phil was nowhere to be seen. 

Phil with his smile and good-nature, his sense of humor, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

Phil ringed in the blinding light of his faith, leading them through the darkness.

Phil the slave to duty, who couldn’t leave until the job was finished. 

Phil who knew they were targeting Bruce and issued orders like he was born to it. 

Clint was up the stairs and opening the door to Bruce’s room before he even realized it. 

Standing there, watching Phil turn, seeing the contents of Bruce’s pack spread over the bed. 

“I can save you the trouble,” Clint said. “It’s not here.”

Phil closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, then opened them again, his gaze clear and even. “It’s not the scrolls. It’s a book with a blue cover. Small, handwritten, lots of notes in the margins.” 

The one Bruce had been reading all afternoon yesterday, the one Tony had bought from the young man with the obsessed mother. 

“I have to find it before they do.” 

This was Phil’s job, why he was here. 

“And if you find it? What are you going to do? Sell it to the highest bidder?” 

_Before, beneath, behind, above._

“The knowledge it contains is dangerous; if it falls into the wrong hands, the outcome could be catastrophic. I’ll take it someplace safe, the place it was stolen from.” 

_Stewards._

“And where’s that, Phil?” 

_The way is open._

“The Forbidden Archives in Triskelia.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdlkfjasldkfjalsdkjflskfjlsjflkjljslkajsdlfkasjdf!
> 
> I'm so excited to hear what you think about the two reveals here. When I started this story, I had four scenes in my head I wanted to write. Bucky whipping off his glove to show the Hydra's Hand and Clint finding out Phil has ulterior motives (and who he really is) were two of them. It was fun to put them so close together and to bring Tony's reaction into the mix. Yes, yes, I've split the Phil reveal -- the scene will continue at the top of the next chapter, same bat time, same bat channel -- but this was getting too long and unwieldy and Phil's information will change the direction of the story. 
> 
> Speaking of stories, Bucky's use of the Hydra's Hand is a call back to when I was in college and joined a DnD group. It was my first time really playing (stumbling around on poster board squares in high school doesn't count since I really didn't do anything) and the group was already established with 7th and 8th level characters. The DM, a guy I had a massive crush on but turned out to be my best friend instead, let me roll up a level 4 fighter/mage because, as everyone knows, mages don't get jackshit to do until level 3. Anywho, the way he introduced me to the group was in the middle of tavern brawl that spilled out into the courtyard; one of the guys had gotten this artifact that was a skeletal hand (why yes, it was the Hand of Vecna for all you oldtimers like me) and he used in the fight. Thing was, the guy was an ass about it, always declaring that anyone who saw the hand had to die so it was either kill me or I had to join the party. Fortunately, the three other guys voted me in. I've always wanted to put a similar scene into a fic because the DM was really funny and had all sorts of hand puns and it's a good memory. 
> 
> Shout out to those who picked up on the hints that Phil had more to do than family things. It was really subtle because ... well, you'll see why in the next chapter. We're leaving Providence as the rollercoaster comes out of this loop ... but don't get comfortable! More twists and turns are ahead.
> 
> The voice Clint's hearing is branching out here, answering questions (sort of), and repeating Phil's prayer/breastplate from the pass. 
> 
> Interesting fact: Hawks have fucking amazing eyesight and see in color. Clint would have no trouble identifying the people in the courtyard. Ferrets, on the other hand, only see the color red and shades of grey, so Nat's hair would be easy to pick out, but the rest Clint would do by size and shape and other basic details. 
> 
> Stewards and shadows and ways being open. Light and darkness. Diseases and drugs. Wildes and magic. Stick with me folks ... it's all related.


	12. Chapter #11: Matters of Trust and Secret Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil talk. Another piece of the puzzle is revealed and our heroes flee town.

_ An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all. _

  
  


“Triskelia?” Clint asked, incredulous. What was Phil talking about? “The city under siege? If you’re going to lie, at least pick a realistic location.” 

“I’ve never lied to you,” Phil insisted and, damn it, Clint wanted to believe that. 

“Right. You just omitted a few important details.” Heat began to stir in Clint, as much frustration as a feeling of being betrayed. He’d never asked and Phil hadn’t volunteered; that didn’t bother him. What did was all the bits and pieces, the prophetic whispers and convoluted answers. He was tired of being in the dark, seeing only parts of the picture. And, if he was honest with himself, he had thought Phil was one of the pieces he was beginning to understand.

“I didn’t know who had it, just that it was here,” Phil argued. “It was coincidence, our meeting. I didn’t even know you were heading for Providence until you told Rogers and the others.” 

“You let us talk in front of you last night.” Clint had thought they were all sharing, but Phil had been holding back. “You could have said you were after it, hell, you could have asked Bruce if he had it and he probably would have answered.”

“It’s not that simple. There are reasons …” Phil cut himself off. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. Finding the book is more important than all of us. I made a vow and I’m keeping it. I have to take it back.” 

“Right. You’re going to, what, hold me a sword point until I blurt out everything I know? ‘Cause I have to tell you, that ain’t much and it’s not worth dying over, that’s for sure.” Clint didn’t want to believe Phil would do it, but he wasn’t sure about much of anything at the moment. “I care more about getting us out of this alive, so maybe I should be interrogating you about who those guys were and when they’ll be back. Pretty sure you know more than me.” 

“They’re mostly Exilio Freed members. The man and his partner from last night were different -- ExFre wouldn’t use a dead man’s spell -- probably worked for whoever paid for the attack. Fairly standard operating procedure to have oversight,” Phil offered. “Don’t know anymore because the second guy burned up when Barnes loosed that icy spell. But I can promise you they’re not the only ones on the trail; There are a half-dozen interested parties who will stop at nothing to get the information.” 

“Seriously?” He’d run into ExFre before on a couple of other jobs; ruthless once engaged, they lived only by the code of the deal. If money changed hands, they’d finish the job. They weren’t inherently evil, but if you met their price, they didn’t care about whys. “If they’re on contract …” 

“They’ve already identified Bruce.” Phil sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “And they’re the least of my worries. Rumors are that someone is trying to engage the Shīshīn League.” 

The name made Clint catch his breath. “They’re just a legend.” 

“Oh, they’re real,” Phil assured him. “I’ve seen one of them take out ten opponents all by itself. They stay in a castle on the eastern side of the mountains, almost inaccessible, and they turn down almost every offer unless they decide the deed is worthy of their talents.” 

“Shit.” Clint dropped down beside Phil and rubbed his hand over his face. “We can’t fight something like that. Won’t matter where we go, they’ll find us.” 

“Which is why the book needs to go back. The archive is the only place that can contain its magic and protect it.” 

“That didn’t work so well the first time,” Clint reminded him. “Or else it would still be there.” 

“Someone on the inside was replacing books with copies and selling them, but that person no longer has access. It’s the first time in the history of the library that an archivist has been banned.” 

Clint shivered at the ice in Phil’s voice. “Okay, but there’s still the whole Gidran army between here and there, and even if you get through them, they’re not just going to open the gates and let you in.” 

Phil stilled; his fingers balled up then released. Clint could see the tension in Phil’s shoulders, the indecision in his clenched jaw. Then he gave a long exhale and his whole demeanor lightened. 

“Actually, they would.” He turned; Clint hadn’t realized how close they were until he looked into Phil’s eyes and saw the variations of blues in his irises. ‘Because I’m the Head Guard of the Sacred Library.” 

Clint opened his mouth, closed it, tried again, but his brain couldn’t form a response to that revelation. If it was true so many things made sense. Phil’s reluctance to encounter any soldiers, his triune tattoo, the invocation of his faith in the mountains. 

“Your family.” That was the first thing that tumbled out of his lips. “They’re a target.” 

“Only my sisters know; even Pauline’s husband thinks I live and work at a small town by the coast,” Phil said. “After I retired, I moved to Triskelia because I love the city and an old friend was a Captain of the City Guard. It really is a quiet job, mostly checking the credentials of scholars and visiting priests, at least until the siege started. When the books went missing, someone had to track them down and I have the most experience outside the walls, so …”

The import of Phil’s words sank in; he was offering Clint ammunition to use against him, placing his life at Clint’s discretion. It was a heady thing, this level of trust.

“Gods above, if the Gidrans find you, they won’t just throw you in a cell, Phil. They’ll want to know how you got out of the city and how they can get in and they’ll torture you to find out. Avoid entanglements, my ass.” 

“Yeah, I may have understated that part; it was bad enough the first time they captured me, but now …” Phil shrugged but his shoulders were still tight. “Weighed against the potential danger of anyone, much less the Gidrans, getting their hands on the book, my safety is not important; I need your help to talk Bruce into giving it up willingly and soon. The more he reads, the more likely the spells are to break free.” 

“Break free.” A flash of memory, Bruce’s face mottled green, his anger, down in the cellar superimposed over Bruce, his head down, his eyes riveted to the page. “What happens if he reads it?”

Phil must have seen the truth in Clint’s eyes. “How much has he already seen? If it’s just a few pages, we can mitigate the effect, but if it’s more …” 

“He spent all yesterday afternoon in his room before we came to dinner.”

“Damnation and hellfire,” Phil cursed. “And he was already showing signs of abilities, all those headaches. It’ll start speeding up, taking over.” 

“Yeah, that might already be happening. I talked him down a few minutes ago, got him to push it back.” The timeline fit; Bruce’s exposure was neither drug nor illness, but one little blue book. “We need to get him out of here in case he loses control; plus, there’s no use sitting and waiting for the next attack. Going to be hard enough with all the troops on the road plus keeping a weather out for ExFre and assassins and others. Nat’s probably already two steps ahead of us, preparing; we might have to gag Tony and toss him on a horse to stop him from arguing, but he can’t stay either. They’ll figure out he had it and we should …” 

Clint rose but Phil stopped him; a warm hand wrapped around Clint’s bicep, fingers curled over his linen shirt. 

_ Have faith.  _

“Thank you.” Phil stood and a shiver ran through Clint. “For believing me.” 

_ Bind us closely. _

“I probably shouldn’t,” Clint said, words tumbling out without thought. “But the damn voice is telling me to, so, what the hell, right? Only live once and all that.” 

_ Bonds of unity. _

“Voice?” Phil’s eyebrows rose. “You hear it too? When did it start? What does it say?” 

_ Trust them. _

“The morning after the pass and it’s getting stronger,” Clint admitted. 

_ Find her. _

“I thought it was just me,” Phil said. “If it’s talking to you …” 

The door opened, Tony strolling in the room, Bruce at his shoulder. 

“Oh, hey, don’t let me interrupt.” Tony grinned as he saw them standing so close together. “A fight does get the juices flowing.” 

Phil dropped his hand and stepped back, affable mask slipping into place. “No bother. Clint and I had the same idea to check the rooms for any traps.” 

“I told you it was a good idea,” Tony said to Bruce. “Now let me run a quick check for any magical residue and we can get you packed up and ready to go.” 

“Natasha said she’d get your things,” Bruce told Clint. “We’re meeting in the stables to make a plan.”

“Good.” Clint refused when Bruce offered to pass the twins over. “Keep them with you; they’re excellent look-outs. They’ll let me know if anything happens. I’ll round up the rest of the menagerie.” 

“Phil,” Bruce said. “I’m sorry to drag you into this.” 

Phil exchanged a look with Clint. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he replied. “I’ve got a feeling bigger forces are in play. The gods do as they will.” 

That earned him an assessing gaze but Bruce let the statement pass unchallenged, stepping aside as they left the room. There would be time for talk and admissions later; now, they needed to move quickly. Phil headed to his room without saying anything else; Clint didn’t know how Phil planned to proceed, but he imagined the next step was getting them away from the inn. The inn. That made him think about the danger they’d brought to Gabe, Jarrod, Rosalie, Trip, and the rest of the family’s doorstep. Contract mercs and mythical assassins were on their asses, and they’d be stopping here. 

He found Lucky with Steve who was talking to Gabe and Trip about that very thing. 

“...tell them the truth,” Steve was saying. “It’s a matter of when, not if they show up and they’re bound to have mages with truth spells, so don’t bother trying.” 

“Ain’t scared of no ExFres.” Gabe wrinkled his nose. “But if they’ve been paid off, no telling who else is after that boy. I’ll send out some messages; I’ve got a couple of people who owe me favors. We’ll be covered.” 

“Once we’re gone, you send ‘em on after us.” Clint bent to scratch Lucky behind the ears. “I’ll lay a trail even a Finder couldn’t follow.” 

“I bet you can,” Trip said. “But Grandda’s right; we’re good. Town takes care of its own; we’ve got to, up here with the winters we have. We’ll make sure everyone is safe.”

He offered his hand and Clint shook it. They were good people, and he hoped to hell they’d be all right. 

“Mercs are one thing,” Steve said as they crossed the courtyard. “But I don’t think they’re the worst of it. Evil always wears masks at the beginning.” 

“And you know all about it, don’t you?” Clint was tired of mincing words; what he wanted was answers. “Steward of the light.” 

Steve’s stride hitched; he ducked his head and lowered his voice. “Not here. Violence draws eyes, and the hand is like a beacon.” 

“The way is already open.” Clint held the stable door for Steve. “And I want to know what that means.” 

“We’re ready.” Sam was cinching the saddle on his horse. “Buck’s got your stuff packed and loaded; you know how he gets.” 

Walking over to their horses, Clint grabbed Arrow’s saddle and got to work. “Well, I don’t, so how does he get?”

“Used to disappear immediately after he took off the glove,” Sam answered. “At least now he sticks around until we’re ready to go as long as we don’t dawdle.” 

“People tend to react negatively to things they don’t understand; no use waiting around for the explosion.” Steve checked his own steed. “But I imagine you have experience with that.” 

“We do.” Natasha hung their packs on a peg; she was in her traveling gear, ready to go. “I tried to pay for the room through tomorrow, but Stark’s already tossed enough money around to cover everyone’s bill. Didn’t help to complain; he said something about an untraceable spell on the coins that will spread. I can see why the council gets annoyed with him; far too many of his ideas are practical and they like maintaining the mystique of magework. His bits and bobs can be very handy.” 

“Why, Romanoff, did you just say I was useful? Or was that a reference to my excellent set of family jewels?” Tony sauntered in and took in the gathering with a glance. He waved and symbols hovered in the air, a quietening spell to avoid being overheard. “They are a handful, I must say.” 

“Not everything’s about sex, Stark,” Natasha told him as she slipped Yelena’s bridle over her head. “Did you remember to wipe your magical signature?” 

“Wipe my signature. That one’s too easy.” He chuckled then clasped a hand to his chest. “You wound me with your doubt. Not only did I clean up, they’ll find another mage instead of mine. So much more fun to set them on someone else’s trail.” 

“Can you cast a wide enough invisibility to get us past anyone on the road?” Steve asked. “There’s only one way in and out of here; if it were me, I’d have people watching who comes and goes, just in case.” 

“Oh, we want some of us to be seen.” Phil had his pack over his shoulder as he and Bruce joined them. “To ensure anyone asking will get the same answers. More useful would be illusions to make it seem we went different directions. The three of you,” Phil nodded towards Steve, “riding out later, me sticking around town for a bit, Stark seen in public.” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Tony’s mind was clearly engaged, his fingers moving in patterns. “Can even make it seem like the horses are still here.” 

“Good. We want them to see Bruce, Clint, and Natasha exit along the main road. Make sure Bernard’s flying low enough to be noticed and Lucky’s head is out of his basket,” Phil continued. 

“Through the tourist section; it will be hopping this time of day.” Red was glowing around Tony’s hands. “I’ll be down by the apothecary -- overextension of powers gives me a headache -- and then by the whiskey shop. Phil, we’ll put you in and out of here then two more spots on quieter roads, with departure in the morning. I pop in and out enough that it won’t be remarkable if I stop showing up.” 

“You can do all that?” Sam peered at the numbers that were floating in the air. 

“Illusion’s easy; first magic I learned was how to make people see what they want to see.” He began flicking separate strings in different directions. “Classic misdirection. Works to hide all sorts of sins, right, Phil?” 

“We meet at the second turn on the road,” Phil continued, ignoring Tony’s jibe. “There’s an overlook on the outer curve and a waterfall on the inner with a side path by the falls. It’s rough but the horses can make it. Rogers, you’re welcome to continue on your way at any time.” 

“We’re coming with you.” Bucky stepped out of the shadows of a back stall. “Those guys were professionals, and they’re the kind that don’t stop. You’ll need someone to watch your backs.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Bruce said. “You have paying job offers. This is my mess; it’s bad enough that I’ve dragged the others into it.” 

“Oh, that’s easy to solve,” Tony interjected even as he kept weaving illusions. “I’ll hire them to protect you.”

“We’re not taking your money, Stark,” Bucky objected. 

“Yeah, see, Buck has this thing about sleeping with employers, as in, he won’t do it,” Sam added. “He’ll get all pouty and glower at us if you hire us and a grumpy Bucky is a miserable riding companion.” 

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky all but growled. “Just cause I have standards and don’t want him to question why I fucked him? You wouldn’t do it either, Mr. Consent is Everything.”

“Aw, ” Tony grinned. “That’s the sweetest thing I think anyone’s ever said to me. Most fuck me for my money or magic; it’d be nice to try something different for once.” 

“I can give you different,” Buck replied with a wink. “And no money has to change hands.” 

“I’ll hire you.” Phil stepped in before the conversation got even further off track. “We’ll need your skills before this is over. Standard day rate plus indemnity and hazard overhead. Seven days to start, a third upfront.”

Even Natasha blinked, her gaze sharpening as she swiveled her head towards Phil. 

“Anyone else find this new Phil hot? Giving orders, tossing around money, being a badass?” Tony eyed Phil up and down. “If sparkly hand man over there doesn’t work out, I might have to get in line behind Barton.” 

“No.” Natasha put her foot down. “No sex puns or jokes until at least two candle marks. It’s too soon.” 

“I’m never too early,” Tony said with a wink. “Always right on time.” 

“Horses. Now.” Natasha turned her back. 

“Phil, you don’t have to do this.” Bruce put a hand on Phil’s shoulder. 

“I do,” Phil contradicted him. “The Three rarely agree on much, but on this, they’re clear; my way is with you.” 

As Clint settled Lucky in his basket, Natasha gave him one of those looks, the kind that spoke full sentences without a sound passing her lips. He met her squarely and didn’t flinch, enough of an answer for the moment. She’d accept his judgment until he explained things to her. Then, as Bernard took to his saddle perch, Phil shared a look; Clint gave him a crisp nod, assurance that he’d keep what he knew from the others until Phil chose to reveal all or part of it. Swinging up in the saddle, Clint took his turn to catch Steve’s eye and remind him of the promised exchange. 

Riding out was surreal. Whatever spell Tony used meant, with Bruce in the middle, Clint and Natasha had to leave a horse length between them so the others had room. In the lead, Clint could sense Steve and his horse Peggy on his flank even if he couldn’t see them; Sam and Bucky were behind Bruce, keeping an invisible watch. Natasha brought up the rear, guarding the way behind. Garnering attention wasn’t difficult; they took the straightest route and the streets were busy with both visitors and locals. Enough time had passed for word to spread of an attack; people were gathered on street corners in groups, passing along the latest gossip. The fancy inn they’d passed the first day had guards at the entryway, watching all the comings and goings. Clint swore he saw Tony at one point, the illusion already doing its job.

The road out of town curved to the east as it started down the mountain. Wide enough for coaches to pass, it was an easy ride with amazing views, the whole western plain laid out like a painted landscape. In the distance, the Dlanian Sea was a thin ribbon of blue across the horizon, but it was the spires of Triskelia that caught the sunlight, glinting silver. The three towers of the temples were the highest, round turrets flying the triune flag. Others were square minarets, rising from the inner walls, trisecting the city. Gleaming white stone formed the outer fortification, bulwarks connected by curtains, rising high above the ground. 

But smoke rose from the fires of the surrounding troops, row after row of bivouac tents, lines of trebuchets and scaling towers, trampled squares for cooking areas, and rutted tracks for wagons. Encircled around the city, the army spread as far as the forest on the south, the mountains on the east, and almost to the sea on the west. They’d dug gouges in the earth, deep trenches to block roads, and pits to bury their garbage. Only the marshy areas around the lakes were free of the Gidrans, the soft ground and stinging insects too uncomfortable. 

As they rode, Clint kept his senses open, listening for traveling parties in either direction. A tanner passed, draft horses pulling the fur and leather loaded wagon. Four sleek racers overtook them; one of the riders was Yvil Nedilia from last night. He nodded but didn’t slow, keeping the fast pace of the others. 

When they reached the waterfall, Clint slipped out of the saddle and walked Arrow down the gravel lane into the vale. A small creek ran over an outcropping and splattered onto the rocks below, curtain of water forming a pool before gravity pulled it onward. Logs had been made into benches around it, the spot quiet and partially hidden from the road.

Not long after they arrived, Clint sensed a rider approaching; touching the horse’s mind, he got a snort and a welcome, intelligence seeping across the connection. 

_ “I bring trouble,”  _ the horse thought back, words echoing clear. _ “Master Stark is in a fine fettle.”  _

“What? Tony’s horse can talk” Clint must have spoken out loud because Bruce answered. 

“Jarvis isn’t a horse,” Bruce explained. “Tony’s never told me the whole story, but Jarvis is something else entirely.” 

_ “I am indeed neither human nor equine,” _ Jarvis said.  _ “I will be delighted to tell you of my origin; I so rarely haven anyone else to speak to besides Master Stark.”  _

“I look forward to it,” Clint said just as Tony came over the rise. 

“Phil’s not far behind me,” Tony said. “Lola could give Jarvis a run for his money.” 

Only one light pack was slung across Jarvis’s saddle, a water skin and food pouch on the opposite side. Tony didn’t tie Jarvis off and Clint realized Jarvis didn’t have a lead, reins or bridle. 

“While I appreciate a man who travels light, is that all you brought?” Steve’s voice coming from empty space was unnerving. “We don’t have an extra bedroll.” 

Tony gave an exaggerated sound of disgust. “You’ve heard of pocket dimensions? Well, then why not expand the space and have everything at your fingertips.” With a chuckle, he spun a magical circle, reached through, and brought out a decanter of whiskey. “Never have to pack and unpack, just step through and viola!” He put the glass container back. “Also a great theft deterrent; they can’t steal it if they can’t find it. Key it to me, carry it everywhere.” 

“Useful.” Sam was so closed Tony jumped. “Be really nice to have a way to keep all your things close.” 

“Yeah, enough of that.” Tony motioned with his hand and the other three men appeared. “Once Phil arrives …” 

“Already here. If you can …” He popped into view, halfway down the path, Lola’s reins in his hand. “It’s very strange, not being able to see myself.” 

“Thought I was going to run into someone,” Sam agreed. “I’m used to people acting like I’m not there, but I like knowing where to put my feet.” 

Tired, hurting, thirsty, hungry. The feelings pushed the edges of his senses, growing closer. Horses being ridden hard without stop. Four, six, nine of them, wanting to stop but urged on by their masters. 

“We’ve got incoming, maybe a quarter of a mark out,” Clint announced. “Wherever this path is, we need to get moving. Nat and I will clear this last part of the trail.” He was already putting out the call, asking animals to trample over their prints and confuse the scent. He reeled Bernard in, set Kodo and Podo to work sweeping the path down with broken branches. By the time the riders got here, Natasha would have webs crossing the path entrance, thin undisturbed threads. 

“It’s over here.” Phil pushed through a thick rhododendron and stepped out of sight. “First slope’s steep, but then it levels out.” 

The others followed, one by one, Steve then Sam then Bruce then Bucky. 

“Pretty damn useful yourselves,” Tony said as he watched Natasha and Clint obscure their passage. “Magic would raise suspicions for those who know how to look; this is nice and natural and … is that a skunk?” Tony’s eyes widened as the small animal scurried up the path and into the road above. 

“Classic misdirection. ” Clint smiled. “She’s graciously agreed to spray them. They’ll smell nothing but the stink.” 

“You are evil, my friend, truly evil.” Tony smiled. “I think I love you.” 

“Not interested Stark,” Clint said as he gathered up the ferrets. “I like a capable older bad-ass type.”

“Phil is appealing, but then everyone’s my type.” Tony headed after the others, paused, then looked back over his shoulder. “He’s not telling us everything, you know that?” 

“Yeah.” Clint ducked his head, leaving Natasha to web up any disturbed branches. “And neither is your erstwhile boyfriend.” 

“I know,” Tony said. “Confession is good for the soul, they say. I think it’s time we did a little more of that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triskelia is modeled, very loosely, after the Holy City in Prince of Persia. As mentioned in an earlier chapter, the city is divided into three sectors: the city, the temples, and the library/archives. We'll be hearing more about it as the story moves forward. 
> 
> Yep, the scrolls were a red herring ... maybe? *winks*
> 
> I'm really happy with Tony in this story. He makes good decisions, helps, but is still the sassy pansexual I want him to be. 
> 
> The Shīshīn League is cobbled from sooooo many sources; every medieval hunter epic type of tale has that one group of evil assassins, eh? 
> 
> The first two things the shadow voice says are from a Syrian Clementine Liturgy prayer. 
> 
> I had almost all of this chapter written before Saturday, but I've been wrestling with some of the plot points, convincing myself they don't make sense and aren't realistic. Then I thought, "it's a freakin' fantasy mash-up. I can do what I want" so here it is. 
> 
> The gang's all together ... well, minus a couple of erstwhile gods who may be waiting to be rescued somewhere down the line. 
> 
> Next chapter the cards are going on the table and some truths are getting spilled. It's time to get our gang on the same page and set a plan for how to save the world ... and rescue her. *winks*


	13. Chapter #12: The Plot Thickens and the Path is Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some truths are revealed, others are not. Clint learns some history and magical theory and thinks about bubble baths. Steve, Sam and Bucky open up about who they are. The pieces are almost all there and the plot comes into focus.

_ If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out. _

  
  


They set up camp later that evening in a cleft of the mountain. Twice, Bruce’s mare balked and Clint had to soothe her to get her to continue. Lola got antsy on a particularly narrow stretch where gravel skittered down the steep slope with every hoof fall. An uneasy silence reigned, their full attention needed at every step; Clint ran hot the whole way, scanning the area for threats. Natasha always had a spider crawling loose and left floating threads behind her. Tony mumbled under his breath, words made of harsh syllables and unknown consonants. 

The trail switched back and forth, crossing the road further down and meandering through the hills. Sometimes, they’d catch a glimpse of the plain, Triseklia’s towers growing taller as they wound downward, and Gidran tents becoming more distinct. Finally, Phil called a halt in what was in a sheltered dip where a rock overhang offered some measure of protection from the elements and prying eyes, the pine trees covering the rest. The small creek they’d been following broadened out where some roots had grown together, enough to fill up their water skins and wash the grime off their hands. A leash of foxes had their den at one end; Clint promised they’d leave them alone and depart in the morning. 

Everyone busied themselves feeding and taking care of their horses; Tony brushed Jarvis until his sable coat shone. Then the parcels of leftover pie came out and they found places to sit on rocks and roots and logs, unwilling to risk starting a fire even though all seemed quiet. Only Tony’s dim mage spheres served as light. 

“What’s the plan for the morning?” Bruce asked after he finished his savory piece. “We’ll have to cross somewhere to get to the forest and swing west to go around the marshes, right?” 

“Depends upon where we’re headed,” Clint answered. 

“We’re going to Malleton, aren’t we?” Bruce blinked, exhaustion slowing his reactions. Struggling with his emerging abilities was draining him. 

“They probably already know where you’re from,” Steve explained. “And if they don’t, they’ll certainly track you back there. It won’t be safe.” 

“But …” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Betty’s there. If they come for me, they’ll find her and no one’s there to protect her.” He began to rise. “I have to get to her.” 

“I can send her a message,” Tony said calmly. “Like we always do.” 

“Betty?” Sam asked. 

“My friend and business partner, Betty Ross.” Bruce took a deep breath and eased back down. “I should have thought of her, gods, how did I forget her?” 

“Been a long day,” Natasha told him. She was close enough to put a comforting hand on his thigh. “And it’s a lot to take in. Slipped my mind too.” 

“Is there somewhere she can go, someone she can trust?” Steve asked. “Mercs like Exfre generally avoid collateral damage; if she answers their questions and has some measure of protection, they’ll move on once they’re convinced she doesn’t know anything.” 

If it was Exfre, Clint thought. Shīshīn assassins would be another story.

“Isn’t her father a general or something?” Natasha said. “I know it’s not ideal but …” 

“General Ross? Thaddeus Ross?” Phil interjected. “Your friend is Thunderbolt’s daughter?” 

“Wait, that General?” Clint was incredulous; so many surprises coming so fast. “The guy who runs the Wilde Hunters troop?” 

“Yeah.” Bruce ran a hand through his tousled curls. “That’s a big reason Betty wants nothing to do with him.”

“The man’s a true believer, is obsessed with the purity of the human race,” Phil explained. “He once destroyed a village because they wouldn’t hand over a wilde for interrogation. It was a nine-year-old boy.” 

“Good gods,” Sam said. “That’s insane.” 

“Asshole,” Bucky cursed. “People are fucked up.” 

“I won’t argue, but he does love his daughter,” Bruce insisted. “He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.” 

“But would he protect you or would he sell you out?” Phil bluntly asked. “He even gets a whiff of why they’re looking for you …” 

“In a heartbeat. He hates me.” Bruce slumped even further. “But I can’t let Betty get hurt.” 

“So, I might have an idea.” Clint knew what he was about to say was out-of-the-box, but it seemed like it was time for creative solutions. “What we need is someone who has a vested interest of their own we can use. Someone who doesn’t like the Gidrans and is powerful enough that the Exfre and others will leave Betty alone.” 

“Seriously?” Natasha raised both eyebrows. “That’s bold, even for you.” 

“He practically runs half the city and Bruce himself said he keeps his promises,” Clint offered as a rebuttal.

“Oh.” Bruce sat up. “I mean, it’s all about money and profit for him, but why would he even give me the time of day?” 

“Because his second-in-command thinks Clint’s cute.” Natasha just had to get that out there; Clint rolled his eyes at her. “And, ultimately, it’s good for his business; he wants to be seen as more reasonable than the Duke and a viable alternative to the Chouhan’s brutish tactics. ”

“With Duke Wilhelm in Whitehall’s pocket and Thunderbolt chasing down wilde rumors, he’s positioning himself to be the true power in the city,” Clint added. 

“Wilson Fisk? The Kingpin?” Tony stroked his goatee as he thought about it. “You know, that just might work. I’ve had a few dealings with him and his organization; hefty markup but he delivers what he says he will. He may be a criminal but he operates by a set of rules.” 

“Bruce? You know her best,” Natasha said. 

“Fisk hates the Leader and his followers; ran a group of them out of the city after they started recruiting. There are rumors he’s a wilde himself; whispers are he’s really strong, like supernaturally strong.” Bruce rubbed his hands on his thighs as he thought about it. “Yeah, I think he’d do it, but it would cost a lot, more than Betty and I have …” 

“Money’s not a problem,” Tony assured him. “I’ll cover it.” 

“Tony I can’t let you …” Bruce started to object. 

“Excuse me, who got you into this? All you wanted were some herbs and ingredients; it was my bright idea to buy those scrolls and pass them along, so, yeah, I can pay to protect Betty from the shitty outcome of an impetuous action on my part.” Tony clenched his jaw and balled up his hand into a fist. “No one’s getting hurt because of another one of my fuck ups. Gods, you think I’d learn, but I keep doing the same shit over and over again.” 

“Stop that,” Bucky spoke up. “You want to get into a pissing match about who’s more messed up, we can do that, but, since we’ve met you, you’ve done nothing but help, so I’m pretty sure I’ll win. Hell, you didn’t run when you saw this gods-be-damned hand and that’s a miracle and a half.” 

“Give me time,” Tony shot back. “I destroy everything I touch eventually. I knew they burned down Harvey’s library and I still took the damn things.” 

“I’d have done the same thing.” It was Bruce’s turn to be consoling. “Any chance of finding a cure or learning more about how the disease works is worth the risk. We’re not going to let them burn and destroy what they don’t like; Betty’d kick both of our asses if we did.”

“If I can,” Sam interjected, “what exactly are we talking about? I’ve got that Stark bought some scrolls and gave them to Bruce, but disease? Libraries?” 

“Milquise Gervais, Lord Harvey. Suggested the increase in wilde abilities could be linked to some common plants,” Natasha stepped in to supply before either Tony or Bruce could go into a longer explanation. “His library was destroyed; people believe that Gidra’s behind it.” 

“Ah, you're assuming Gidran forces want to destroy them, thus the attacks.” Sam looked puzzled. “In my experience, if Gidra wants something done, they send their own troops to do it with extreme force. They wouldn’t hire mercs and take hostages; they’d raze the inn to the ground and half the city just to be sure.” 

“You’re right,” Phil said. “That’s what Gidra would do if they were after the scrolls. But it’s not the scrolls; it’s a little blue book everyone’s looking for.” 

“What?” Bruce’s head jerked around to stare at Phil. “The book?” 

“I knew it.” Tony poked a finger Phil’s way. “I knew you knew more than you were letting on. Spill it, Coulson. What’s your deal?” 

Natasha ignored the byplay and looked straight at Clint; he didn’t flinch under her steady gaze. 

“It’s titled  _ Shok Phailaana  _ which literally translates to Growing Grief,” Phil explained. “The author was a Mastan who spent their life studying how diseases spread in the human body. Was later owned by Madame Nesji Dysji who added results from her own experiments.” 

“That’s who wrote in the margins?” Bruce’s eyes widened. “No wonder the comments are so insightful.” 

“Do you know who …” Steve asked Clint. 

“No idea,” Clint replied.

“Famous scientist,” Tony answered. “Focused on the after-effect of magic, particularly when large amounts of residue are left behind. She was the one who predicted the expansion of blighted areas after large scale battles and what it meant for the wildlife and humans living nearby.” 

“She died from it,” Bruce said. “Spent so much time around excess magic that she grew tumors and died. Her theories are the standard we use to determine the magnitude of impact today. But why would Gidra want a book about disease? That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Two assumptions there,” Steve said, speaking as much to Phil as anyone else. “As Sam said, if it was Gidra, we’d already be dead. And, second, people wouldn’t be after it if it was just another treatise on healing. There’s got to be more to it.” 

“The Mastan was a Mage,” Phil said, “by the name Teneik.” 

“Holy shit,” Sam cursed. “Teneik the Terrible.” 

Bruce was shaken by the name. “Gods defend us. I read it. Tony, I read almost all of it.” 

Even though Phil had told him the book was dangerous, Clint still reeled with the news. Teneik was a nightmare, the kind of villain parents told their children about, couched in fairy tales and rhymes, to teach them about the evils in the world. The monster under the bed with magical powers, he represented fear incarnate, a ruthlessness with no redeeming qualities. Clint had honestly believed Teneik was just a story; to find he was a real person and that they were carrying something of his with them, well, Clint suddenly understood how much hot water they were in. 

“It’s just a book. I checked it for any magical traps or spells.” Tony didn’t sound all that sure. “No harm ever came from reading a book, right?” 

“That’s it, though.” Bruce was shaking as green appeared from under his collar and curled out of his hair onto his cheek. “It’s the variable, what caused my escalation, and I don’t know how.” 

“Hey.” Natasha moved in front of Bruce and slipped her hands along his jaw, cradling his face. “Doesn’t matter how. You’re still you.” 

“I …” He faltered and closed his eyes; Lucky wormed his way in close, resting his head on Bruce’s knee. With a long slow breath, Bruce opened them again and stared at Natasha. “Yeah, I’m still me. I’m just trying to understand it all, how it works, why it works, what it’s supposed to do, how it ended up at that woman’s home…”

“I swear, Bruce, I didn’t know,” Tony assured him. “Kid who sold it to me had no clue, hell, I don’t know how anyone found anything in the mess of that woman’s house. He didn’t look at the ones I picked up and from what he told me, his mother hadn’t sorted through them before she died.” 

“A comedy of errors,” Phil said. “It was part of a shipment that got raided by brigands on the Eastern Road past Salvin; they bartered it off to a tinker who had sold Lady Wortley texts before. By the time she got it, she was already bedridden, taken by the wasting disease.” 

“Seems like you know a lot more about this than any of us.” Tony turned the focus of his attention to Phil. “A retired merc, Coulson? Really?” 

“I’ve been tasked with retrieving and returning the book.” He looked not at Tony but at Clint. “It was stolen from the sacred archives of Triskelia.” 

Everyone reacted to that statement, from Tony’s scoffing to Sam’s disbelief to Steve’s wide-eyes. Everyone but Natasha who merely arched an eyebrow at Clint and shrugged one shoulder. She’d guessed, at least that much, and read between the threads. Hell, she’d probably seen it in the pattern of the web; she’d known Phil had a part to play from the very beginning. 

“Look, I’ve been there, okay?” Tony said. “Nobody can break in; the wards there are … crazy powerful, like blow up the city if you break them powerful. And that’s just the ones you can see. They keep some seriously dangerous stuff there, shit no one wants to be in the same room with. I’m not buying a thief slipped in and …” 

“It was an inside job. Had to be.” Natasha broke in. “People can be bought.” 

“The archivists take an oath,” Bruce said. “Go through years of training. They’re zealots who believe in the sanctity of knowledge.” 

“Sometimes they’re the easiest to get to,” Natasha replied. “Find the right leverage and they think they’re doing their gods’ will.” 

“However it happened, you’re telling us that you have this book? And it’s got some magic that does what? Turn someone wilde?” Sam asked. “That’s what it’s about?” 

“No. I mean, yes, I have it, but it’s a medical treatise about how to treat the wasting sickness. Experiments and theories of how it starts and how it spreads in the body. That’s it.” Bruce shook his head. “I’m looking for a way to slow the progress. That’s what cancer is, when the body turns on itself, like when a cut gets infected, your skin turns red and puffy and you run a fever because you’re trying to fight it off. Sometimes, the body goes into fight mode but doesn’t know when to stop and starts attacking everything, healthy or sick. If we could understand how that response turns on and off …” 

“Goddess and Stars.” Tony’s jaw dropped. “That’s what they’re doing. They have to accelerate it to target it.” 

Bruce drew in a sharp breath. “Infect those who already have developed wilde abilities while you stimulate latent tendencies in everyone else.” 

“Take the breaks off the natural evolution process and let it go unchecked.” Tony nodded in agreement. “Use the body’s own immune responses to speed it up.” 

“Then engineer a disease that attacks only those with those tendencies,” Bruce agreed. 

“Wait, hold on.” Steve held up his hand. “I’m not following. Can you explain what you’re talking about?” 

In a surprisingly short amount of words, Tony filled them in on the diseased monsters, James Rhodes searching for answers to the flu outbreak in the South, and the effects of the drug Svarog. 

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Bucky said as Tony wound down. “There are people who are wildes but don’t know it …” 

“Either they’re latent and show no signs or have very slight abilities,” Bruce filled in.

“... and when they take the drug it makes those come out …” 

“Fast and hard.” Tony winked at him. “With little or no preparation.” 

“... and there’s a sickness spreading through monsters ...” 

“Started in the South and is moving north,” Clint said. 

“... and you think it’s all related.” Bucky thought about it for a moment then said, “If you’re suggesting some conspiracy, there’s a couple of problems. First, what about those who don’t take the drug? They won’t become wilde, right? And, second, the sickness would have to jump from monsters to humans.” 

“Smart and sexy. I like that in a man.” Tony grinned. “Testing, my friends, that’s what they’re doing. Any good spell needs to be tested, especially something as big and complex as this. Start in small phases until you’ve got it figured out. See if the drug works, tweak it if need be, get the formula right. Start the disease where no one will complain about it, might not even notice. Then when it’s perfected …” 

“There’s a chapter in the book about elemental contaminants and delivery systems.” Bruce’s voice grew quiet. “Not just how diseases can enter the body but how to make cures that ride on the wind or dissolve in water.”

Silence fell as the evening shadows lengthened. 

“Everyone. They could get to everyone,” Sam murmured. 

“Secrets will be revealed.” Clint caught Phil’s eyes. “The way is open.”

“Magical residue and a door that wasn’t completely shut,” Phil said back.

“Fuck,” Bruce cursed. “Those ravens that fell into a blighted area and were changed. Old twisted magic, Tony, that could be our missing element.”

“You’re talking about Arnim’s Pass and the Vale.” Steve sat up straighter. “You’re hearing it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Clint and Phil said at the same time. That was a surprise to Natasha. 

“What happened?” Steve pressed. “When you passed through?”

“Shadows. Figures of light,” Clint answered. “Who is she?” 

Steve, Sam and Bucky rocked back, Clint’s question unexpected. 

“You saw her? She was actually there?” Steve leaned forward. 

“Nat called for aid from her sisters and she came,” Clint said. 

“Of course she did.” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Of course she’d come.” 

They took a moment to commune without speaking, Sam and Bucky deferring to Steve’s lead. 

“What do you know about the history of that area?” Steve finally settled on as a start. 

“Mostly stories,” Phil answered. “Ambush of Alliance troops, Mordo calling up dire wraiths, a last stand at the pass. Even more distant, a lost legion that was never found.” 

“Mordo.” Bucky spat out the name. “A butcher and an arrogant fool.” 

“The vale and the pass have a long history of bloodshed and death,” Steve said. “Mordo was the last who brought darkness but he wasn’t the first. Before him there was a Baron named Zemo, and before him was Johann Schmidt and his wizard Arnim Zola, for whom the pass is named. Even earlier was a demon named Mephisto and further back, a mad titan. They all came to the same place, drawn by the thinness of the veil between this world and the next.” 

“At some point, every bad guy decides the answer to their need for power is to draw from the Nevernever,” Sam jumped in. “And it never turns out well for anyone. Best thing to do is prevent ‘em from doing it or be there to fight if we can’t stop ‘em earlier.”

“That’s what you are.” Clint suddenly understood. “Stewards of Light.” 

“Pretentious name,” Bucky said. “But, yeah. For centuries there have been people on watch and, trust me, right now so many signs point to something big coming that it ain’t funny.” 

“So when we met you on the road…” Phil started. 

“You raised a hell of a flare going through,” Steve finished. “Didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until it attacked you. Been semi-quiet for a long time but now I see it was slowly growing.”

“Didn’t think about it being a side effect of this plot you’re describing,” Sam said. “Too busy looking for an evil mage or big warlord to ride in.” 

“What about the job thing?” Tony asked. “Up in Providence, interviews, all that? If you’re Guardians of the Gap … heh … why look for work?” 

“Well, food costs money,” Steve said, “and I do like eating.” 

“We really did ride with the Howlies,” Sam added. “Plus, we got a lot of information from those meetings, like the fact that Reed Richards was approached by some people to do some magical spell work a few months ago; he turned them down because he was suspicious and now he thinks he’s being followed. Worried about his wife and kid.” 

“Queen Frigga didn’t say it outright but I’m pretty sure the princes were on some sort of mission to find out Gidra’s plans. She mentioned extra troop presence on the Northern road as one reason she needed all her personal guard.” Bucky flexed his gloved hand as he spoke. 

“Hiraku saw a vision last night in the tavern,” Steve went on. “Like most prophecies, it’s a jumbled mess. The way being open, secrets being revealed, red glass and yellow spots. A man who isn’t a man and something bigger behind the curtain.” 

“Secrets … like being wilde. If they find a way to deliver the spell, everyone who has any predisposition will be outed,” Bruce said. 

“Yellow spots. That gamlogh and the watcher both had them; that’s the disease.” Clint couldn’t imagine the outcome. While some wildes had noticeable physical differences, the majority could walk by on a street and never be noticed. How many would die of the sickness or at the hands of zealots if the plot succeeded? 

“Genocide,” Phil declared. “All this, the complex plot and spells. That’s what it leads to. Genocide.” 

“I stand corrected,” Sam said. “Might not be one person, but it’s evil, all and the same.”

“And stupid as hell.” Tony’s eyes went hard. “Siphoning off power from the space in between to fuel a spell? Goddess and gears, that’s like dipping your bare hand in lava. You run the risk of popping the bubble and who the fuck knows what happens during the collapse?” 

“Um, yeah, pretend the only thing I know about the Nevernever I heard from a bard’s tale,” Clint said. “Explain this bubble thing. Slowly. In small words.” 

Tony tossed a pinecone at Clint’s head; he caught it with one hand. “Okay, you take baths, right? I mean, you occasionally smell better than you did before, so I’m assuming it’s not a foreign concept. And that you use soap, maybe even the nice smelling lavender kind or that butter stuff that leaves your skin all nice and smooth.” 

“I like eucalyptus and rosemary.” Bucky winked at Tony. “For future reference.”

“Got a copper tub big enough for two with your name on it that’s magicked to keep the water warm, big boy,” Tony flirted back. “First things first and back to bubbles. Think about how they build up on the top of the water, float on the surface. They clump together, right? Big ones with lots of little ones that cling to them? Well, that’s how we think the Nevernever works. Each world, separated by a thin membrane that also connects them. To get to one, you might have to pass through two or three of the bubbles; the bigger bubbles might directly touch a number of the others. Got that picture in your head?” 

Clint nodded. 

“Now, to be clear, the Nevernever is the membrane -- the bubbles are the different spheres. This world we’re in is one bubble. The fae lands are another. The Great Hunter’s is another. We have no idea what all might be clinging to us, we only know the few that are right next to us. There could be infinite numbers of bubbles out there.” 

“It’s impossible to know,” Bruce added, “because opening the veil to anything outside our world is difficult in and of itself; traveling through the other realms is infinitely more dangerous.”

“Right,” Tony agreed. “Dangerous because any messing with the veil is like poking a bubble with a pin; you’re just as likely to pop it as you are to open a hole in it. You pop one of the little bubbles on the outside, well, maybe the rest of them are okay. But think about flicking one of the medium-sized ones or the big central one. You lose part of the membrane to those and POP the whole thing is gone. Just as worse is the chance of bleed thru; imagine sliding that pin in and swirling them all together. That’s what it sounds like is happening now. Same door, opened so many times it’s never quite closed and now stuff is leaking through.” 

“From another realm? The shadows come from another world?” Natasha asked. 

“We can only hope.” It was Steve that answered. “If it’s the Nevernever itself seeping in, we’re in big trouble.” 

“Snap, crackle, and pop,” Tony said with a nod. “We could unravel completely or more and more of those blighted places could appear. Whatever’s behind the curtain, pulling the strings, has tugged on the weft that holds us together.”

“That’s what we’ve got to figure out. Who or what,” Steve agreed. 

“Gidra,” Bruce said. “I know Tony believes they don’t have mages capable of it …” 

“They cap their mage training at the fourth level,” Tony argued. “All that bullshit they spew about aberrant behavior. Like someone’s going to become wilde because they learned to control fire.” 

“Come on, you know those rules are only for the common folk,” Natasha scoffed. “No way the Leader doesn’t have some powerful magic users on his council. ‘Cleansing’ the earth of wildes sounds exactly like a directive he’d issue; they could be looking for the book for that very reason.” 

“What about the Maudis?” Tony threw back. “They outlawed same-sex couples and named them perversions, blamed it on wilde ‘contamination’. Victor Von Doom’s one of them and he has the money and the ability.” 

“Doom’s an ass; he blames women not sleeping with him for all his problems when it’s because he’s a sadistic mama’s boy,” Natasha said. “He wants to take over as many kingdoms as he can, not destroy a chunk of the population. Besides, two of his counselors are wildes and he uses their skills all the time.” 

“Look, we’re not going to reach a conclusion on this tonight,” Sam intervened. “It’s getting late and, personally, I’m tired. What we need to decide is what to do in the morning.” 

That got everyone’s attention. Arguing over hypothetical answers while exhausted was pretty useless. 

“Malleton’s out,” Bruce said. “I won’t bring more down on Betty.” 

“We can’t stay here no matter how well we cover our tracks; there are magical ways to find us.” Bucky was right about that; they were too close to Providence for comfort. “If people want this book as bad as Coulson says, we have to keep moving.” 

“Maybe we should ask Phil what he was planning to do with it,” Tony snarked. “After all, that’s why he was in Bruce’s room. going to take it and run somewhere, weren’t you.” 

All eyes turned Phil’s way. 

“I have a contact less than a day’s ride from here,” Phil admitted. “She can get it back to the archive where it will be safe.”

“Let me guess; we’re headed in the right direction?” Tony’s frustration was evident. “This is what you intended all along.”

“This path takes us to the Eastern Road,” Phil came back at him. “From there, you can go any direction; if you want to ride out onto the plain and right into the hands of the Gidrans, feel free. Personally, I want to get the book back as soon as possible. The longer it’s out, the more damage it can do.” 

“Can they track it? ” Steve asked. “Since it was opened and the spell invoked, is it leaving traces that can be followed?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Tony waved the concern off. “No way they can find it.” 

“Tony,” Bruce spoke up. “About that … with the concern about messing with the veil …”

Phil started. “You put it in the Nevernever? You talk about a pin, that book’s a hammer, Stark.”

“There’s a stasis field, don’t worry. Worst thing we could do is yank it out without proper precautions.” Tony didn’t seem fazed. “No scent to latch onto and no physical form to carry around.” 

“This contact,” Natasha said. “Won’t she use a portal too? How else can she send it to Triskelia?” 

“She has certain abilities,” Phil skirted around the specifics, “that are magnified by the location.” 

“That’s vague.” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t much within a day’s ride from here except the pass and Providence and a few little villages …”

“The Mere. You’re talking about the Mere of Brionglóid,” Steve said. 

“Golden Slumbers Lake?” Clint had heard it called the other name once or twice. “Been there once or twice; it’s remote and there’s nothing special about it other than a nice view and some pretty sunsets. Just a bunch of tumbled down ruins and a lot of snow and ice in the winter.” 

“Used to be a Temple of Iedesi there, long time ago,” Sam said. “Pretty sad story -- the place was destroyed by Arnim Zola. Has to do with that lost legion Phil mentioned. A small group of soldiers tried to trap Zola in the pass, take him prisoner; he cast a confusion spell that left them wandering in the mountains, unsure of their own names. Zola’s forces picked them off one-by-one but one of ‘em stumbled upon the temple, was taken in and nursed back to health by a priestess. When they found him, they destroyed the whole site.” 

“Tell me you have all this written down somewhere,” Phil begged. “So much knowledge we’ve forgotten.” 

“Records decay and parchment burns too easily,” Bucky answered. “We’ve lost at least half of what we used to know.” 

“The Mere’s a good option,” Steve said. “Especially if there are people there who are attuned to its magic.” 

“If they find us there, we’ve got no exit but the main road,” Bucky argued. 

“Actually, that’s not true,” Phil supplied. “There are ways over the mountain.” 

“Pretty sure it’s Bruce’s decision,” Natasha injected. “For what it’s worth, Clint and I have been there; it’s a good place to lay low when people are looking for you. At least it could give Stark time to come up with a way to get rid of the book. Be nice to have options.” 

“If the Buckster and gang say it’s a good idea, I’m a go,” Tony said. “Not ready to trust Coulson yet.” 

“Me either.” Bruce looked at Phil. “Sorry, but honestly, I don’t know if I can trust anyone at the moment.” 

“Hey!” Tony objected. “We’re knowledge brothers!” 

“And you made the last minute decision that I had to come in person,” Bruce reminded him. “Anyone, Tony. I think that’s the best way to move forward, to question everything.” 

Tony grumbled but he didn’t disagree. Bruce was right; Clint knew Natasha would have his back, but there was nothing wrong with approaching things with a healthy dose of skepticism. 

_ Trust them. _

Except, of course, for that damn voice’s insistence on the benefit of the doubt. 

“Golden Slumbers Lake, first thing in the morning,” Bruce said. “And we send those messages to Malleton before we go to sleep.” 

_ She’s waiting. _

Well, now, that was a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo much talking in this chapter, but it was time for them to put most of it together. Still a lot of loose ends but the biggest pieces are in place. 
> 
> Wasting sickness was a term used in Medieval and Renaissance times for cancer. They did understand tumors and cancerous growths, so Bruce's explanation here is my attempt at a fantasy world, magical explanation for beginners. 
> 
> Tony's discussion of the Nevernever is based upon string theory, specifically Brian Greene's theory of parallel universes in The Elegant Universe. I'm a big fan; got to hear him give a talk on the end of time when I was in London last time. Really, really cool concept and I hope I've done it even 1/10th of the justice it deserves. Greene uses the bubble metaphor in his explanation. 
> 
> This is one of those plots that seems complex, but is really simple at the end. Force Wilde traits to come out, violently, with the drug. Unleash a disease targeted at Wildes. Kill off all the Wildes. Takes a shit ton of energy, so tap into the Nevernever to fuel the spells. Don't know or don't care about the potential pitfalls of that action. 
> 
> Nesji Dysji is patterned after Marie Curie who died from the very radiation she studied. 
> 
> Warp and weft are terms from weaving. Weft are the individual threads that the warp is run through. You can take out some of the wefts, but if you pull the warp, the whole thing unravels. Think of those old Looney Tune cartoons where someone pulls one thread and ... voila ... the character falls apart. 
> 
> Things are about to get nasty, folks. Expect some whump in the next two chapters and we might even be getting some touching and ... gasp ... a kiss or two!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who have sent me condolences. Writing has been my balm this week as I wrestle with the loss of my mother; I've been able to retreat into this world and find solace when I need it.


	14. Chapter #13: A Healing, A New Friend, and a Long Awaited Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint does something stupidly heroic and finally meets the mysterious "she." Phil gets angry and then makes amends. The gang meets some old and new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for being so generous and loving; I'm still dealing with the loss and it will be a long while before I'm at any sort of peace with her being gone. I'm glad that my muse is whispering ideas in my ear again; writing has become a real refuge for me.

_Hearts live by being wounded._

  
  
  


Pain flared from his temple setting off a steady throb near his cheekbone. A sharp stab of agony in his shoulder was like a taut leather strap pulled close to breaking. Chills in his chest, burning in his knee, and numbness in his feet. Each breath a struggle to expand his lungs against the ache of his ribs and the tightness of his throat. Eyelashes glued shut, gummed up with blood, one swollen twice its size. Muscles spasming in his knee and an arm hanging useless. 

Clint hurt, from head to toe, everywhere. Agony came in waves, the strongest from his head and face, his shoulder and arm, his ribs and knee. He couldn’t think, couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten here. Nothing made sense, not the cold ground beneath him or the murmuring voices just distant enough to be unintelligible. A breeze that made him shiver and ache even more. Where was Lucky and Kodo and Podo and Bernard …

_*Soaring, air current beneath his wings, tents dots in the expanse below*_

He was too tired to do more than let the images seep from the hawk to him. Always connected to his friends, Clint didn’t have to expend any power to see what Bernard saw. 

_*Hooves scratching the ground, impatient, ready to go. Reins tied to a tree branch, forest all around, Lola and Peggy next to him. Lucky trotting around Arrow, impatient to be on the road.*_

Arrow. Clint passing over the twins before slapping the horse and sending him running, readying his bow to fire. A charge of horses, men in armor, too many to fight, too close to run away …

_*Brown hair wrapped around tiny paws, whiskers twitching, rising and falling of riding. Red hair in the lead on Yelena*_

They’d been on the trail … talking about … a woman? Clint couldn’t bring the conversation into focus, just that Sam was talking, Bucky laughing at Tony, Steve smiling and then …

_*Peeking out of the pouch to see a winding path up a mountain and Bruce’s hands guiding the reins, Natasha in front of them.”_

Soldiers. On the Eastern Road. Came up behind them fast, crossbow bolts whizzing past Clint; he stood, giving the others the chance to flee into the woods, Sam on his left and Bucky on his right. Holding until Bruce and Phil were gone … couldn’t risk either of them getting caught … and taking the brunt of the damage. The edge of a mace slamming into his shoulder, knocking him down. Kicks to his head and chest, heavy boots hitting his body. 

A tentative curious touch slipped past the pain. The rasp of a little tongue on his eyelid and a quiet merp. The animal’s mind was quieter, calmer, easy for Clint to slip into it and see himself. 

_*Dried blood, swollen eye, dark bruises on his face. Laying on his side, shoulder at an awkward angle.*_

*Where?* Clint thought. 

_*A strangely limited view of the inside of a tent. Table at one end, camp chairs around it. Lantern turned low. Packs on the far wall, maps rolled up and stuck inside*_

*Humans?*

_*A body on the floor, face shadowed from the dim light not bruises. Sam, chest rising and falling, eyes open*_

“Sam,” Clint whispered. “Where’s Bucky?” 

“They took him a while ago.” Sam huffed in displeasure. “Always do when they see the hand.” 

Clint managed to get an eye open, blinking away the sticky crust. A cat with one eye stared back at him, mangy fur dirty and missing in places. It was lean, ribs showing, with nasty scars across part of its face and belly. 

“Hey,” Clint greeted it. “Thanks.” 

The cat gave another merp and walked down Clint’s body, settling against his stomach and starting to purr. 

“You made a friend,” Sam said. “It wouldn’t happen to have a key to these things?” 

Sam rattled the manacles around his wrists. 

“I’ll be sure and ask him.” Clint tentatively tried to move his right shoulder; a gasp escaped his lips at the pain.

“Try not to move it,” Sam advised. “It’s probably broken; you took a hit from a studded mace.” 

He tried to take a deep breath but a sharp stab stopped him. Easing his left hand out from under him, he gently probed his ribs, not at all surprised when his fingers met hot swollen flesh and even the tiniest of brushes made tears squeeze from the corner of his eyes. 

“Where are we?” He skipped over his broken rib and jumped right to the completely fucked portion of the situation. 

“Gidran guard post. New one on the road; we stumbled upon one of their sweeps,” Sam explained. “You went all heroic on us and offered yourself up as a diversion.” 

Now he remembered. He’d made noise so the others could slip away without notice. Sounded like something he’d do. “How many?” 

“Standard contingent of sixteen. Mostly keep watch from what they’ve been saying; we’re the first people who resisted their approach. They’re not sure what to do with us.” 

They didn’t have much time; he didn’t know how fast word would travel up the chain of command but eventually someone would connect them to the group who left Providence yesterday. Closing his eye, he sent a clear picture of keys to the one-eyed cat; it reached out its paws, stretched, then sauntered over to the table. In one graceful leap it was up, prowling around the surface, batting a pile of parchment with a paw, knocking some of them off, and stepping lightly around the lantern. Then it stopped at the far edge, crouched, wiggled its butt, and leaped at a haphazardly piled stack of boxes. The top one teetered and fell with a loud crash. 

“What the …” The man who entered was older with a salt and pepper beard and balding head. Sword drawn, he looked at Clint and Sam then at the box. The cat meowed loudly, jumped onto the packs, scrabbled to climb over the mound, then was back on the table. “Fucking hell. I told Brisri to stop feeding you, you little shitl. Now I’m going to …”

He tried to pick the cat up,; it hissed, swiping with its claws and drawing blood on the man’s forearm. With a curse, he let go, but the cat dug into the man’s pants, clinging until it was shaken off and went tumbling behind the boxes... 

“Going to catch and kill you, you bastard,” the guard muttered as he left the tent. “Soon as I get a minute.” 

Seconds after the tent flap fell back in place, the cat trotted over, keys in its mouth; it dropped them into Sam’s open hands and curled up with Clint again. 

“Gods and garters, you’re something, you know that?” Sam grinned as he opened the lock. “Okay, all we have to do is wait for Bucky’s sign, and then we’re out of here. Won’t be long; they can never resist prying out one of the gems …” 

A scream rent the air; the cat jumped, back arching, then ran under the table. Sam rolled up, heading for the corner where their weapons laid jumbled in a pile. He grabbed his sword, dug out Clint’s dagger. “Here,” Sam stuck it into the ground by Clint’s hand. “Be right back.”

“Not going anywhere.” That was an understatement; if his injuries were as bad as he suspected, he might be out of the game entirely. 

Sam peeked through the tent flap, gave Clint a grin, and ran out into the fight. 

“You want to be the lookout?” Clint asked the cat. “Give me a heads up if someone’s …” 

The cat crouched and stared at the entrance. Clint got a hand on the hilt of the dagger and tucked it out of sight before the same guard as before came in, cursing loudly. 

“... told them this was a fucking terrible plan, didn’t I? But no, we’ve got to guard the damn road, look for damn wildes like how the hell am I supposed to know ‘em from a normal …” As he ranted, he stalked over to where Clint lay still, eyes closed, “... too much leader-be-damned magic in the world. A silver hand? What the fuck is that? I vote we kill ‘em all and let the gods sort ‘em out …” 

He raised his sword and started to bring it down, aiming for Clint’s neck. With a burst of energy, Clint surged up, slipping the dagger between his ribs and twisting. Blood ran over his fingers and down his arm as the man sputtered and fell back, eyes wide at the unexpected turn of events. White exploded behind Clint’s eye, pain so intense he forgot how to breathe; he fell back, barely conscious, agony washing over him. The fight outside swamped his senses and shadows gathered at the edges, sucking him out of his body and into the maelstrom of fear and death. 

_Stay with me._

Light filtered in, a soft glow that slowly formed arms and legs. A woman’s face filled his vision. 

“Not my … choice ...” Bloody bubbles formed at his lips as he tried to speak. 

_They need you._

Her hand reached out and splayed over his chest. He opened his mouth to scream but only a strangled groan came out as bones shifted, knitting back together. Red flashed behind his eyelids, agony slicing his organs apart and sewing them back together. Finally, she pulled back and he dragged in a lung full of air. 

“You’re … her.” He could see her better now, how young she was, hair falling over her shoulders, dark eyes brimming with concern. “I’m going to save you.” 

Her lips quirked up at the edges then she placed her hand on his shoulder and it was like lightning ran out of her fingers, burning every nerve ending until they were black ash. Tears ran over his cheeks; metallic tang filled his mouth as he bit his lip. Then it was done; heart racing, drenched in sweat, he rotated his wrist, flexed his fingers, and looked at her. 

“Thank you.” 

_They fear me; you see what others cannot._

She faded as Clint sat up, gone between one exhale and the next. The cat was unimpressed; it started grooming itself, licking its paw and stroking its face. 

“That was her,” Sam said, awe in his voice; he was standing next to the table. “I’ve never seen her.” 

“Welcome to the old-timers’ club.” Bucky smacked Sam on the shoulder, moving him out of the way. He headed for the pile of gear. “Better not have messed with my stuff.”

“Who is she?” Clint took Sam’s offered hand to get up. 

“We don’t know.” It was Bucky who answered. “Lots of stories but most of ‘em are shit. Only two ways to get stuck in the veil; do something heroically stupid or monumentally evil. She’s definitely not a bad guy since she healed your ass, so it’s option number one. The how doesn’t matter.” 

“Stuck? The figures I saw were people once?” Clint strapped on his sword belt and slung his quiver over his shoulder. It twinged, but the bruises on his face and his twisted knee hurt more. 

“Mix magic with the Nevernever and strange things happen,” Sam said. “That stretch of road has a history with disappearances; not everyone in the stories died.”

“She said they feared her,” Clint mused. “I wonder who she was.”

“You’ll have to talk to Steve about that; I’m a relative newcomer to the group. He keeps up with the history better than I do.” Sam looked around the text. “We should take as much as we can carry. Won’t hurt to know what they’re up to.”

Grabbing a stack of parchments, Bucky shoved them in a half-empty pouch. “Agreed, but don’t waste time. I want to be long gone before anyone misses these guys. Barton, you know where this Gold Lake is, right? Best bet is to head there.” 

They stowed what seemed important as fast as they could then Sam held open the flap. Clint paused; the cat was on the table again, tail swishing, watching with a gimlet eye. He held out his arm. 

“You coming?” he asked. With a satisfied meow, the cat jumped, claws sinking into Bernard’s leather bracer. It climbed to Clint’s shoulder and settled. 

Once outside, Clint only glanced at the bodies, busying himself gathering up the horses. Three they’d ride; the others he nudged to head out in opposite directions to confuse any pursuit, dropping the idea of Providence and waystations in their minds, destinations where they could find food and people who might take them in. The sound of approaching hooves made him draw his dagger then resheath it as Steve and Phil rode into camp. 

“Looks like your handy work, Buck,” Steve said, eyeing the destruction. “We didn’t even have time to come up with a feasible plan.” 

Lucky jumped out of his basket and dashed to Clint, dancing around his feet; the cat ignored the dog’s woofs, staring down at him from on high. Arrow, meanwhile, settled for nosing against Clint’s hair, pausing to sniff the cat who batted the horse on the nose. 

“You found a cat?” There was an edge to Phil’s voice and Clint glanced up, eyes narrowing. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked in return. “You should have gone with Bruce and Natasha.” 

Phil’s eyebrows rose at Clint’s tone. “I thought I was rescuing someone who took a direct hit to the shoulder and shouldn’t be standing after all those blows to his stomach. Looks like I was wrong.” 

“The point was to keep them away from the book.” Clint lifted Lucky up and then swung up in his saddle. “Avoiding Gidran entanglements, that was part of the plan or so I thought.” 

“You didn’t have to throw yourself in their path,” Phil replied. “They could have taken you back to the main camp, Clint. It would have been a hell of a lot worse rescuing you from the army’s bivouac.” 

“We got ourselves out,” Clint shot back as they wheeled around and left camp, heading southeast, away from the road and the pass. “I’ll make sure they can’t follow us.” 

Calling on animals around them, Clint doubled back to confuse their tracks, obscuring prints and adding layers of scent over scent. Then he rode forward and took point, quickly finding a deer trail leading the right direction. 

“Why are you up and mobile?” Steve asked after the silence went on too long. “I saw that hit; no way you weren’t hurt.” 

“She healed him,” Sam supplied when Clint didn’t answer. “Broken ribs and busted shoulder.”

“She was here?” Steve moved Peggy in closer. “Tell me everything.”

His eyes shone with excitement and Clint couldn’t turn down the request. He described what he could remember then said, “Sam says he doesn't know who she is.” 

“No one does.” It was Bucky who answered. “She predates me and Steve, and Sam don’t know jackshit. Bunch of different stories about who she might have been but it’s more a sketch than a painting.”

“Story I read said there was a female mage who fought Mordo,” Phil said. “So that’s not true?” 

“She may have showed up during the fight … she has a tendency to do that, especially if there’s someone who calls for aid like Natasha did. But she was already trapped,” Sam explained. “She’s been sighted around the pass many times.” 

“Trapped. In a world in the Nevernever or the space in between?” Clint clarified. 

“Stark’s bubbles; he’s good at that, making it easy to understand.” Bucky grinned at the thought of Tony. “We believe she’s become part of the energy of the bubble’s surface; sometimes, when there’s a surge or someone opens a way, she can manifest for short periods of time.” 

“She’s not the one talking to me though. Save her, that’s what I’ve been hearing but just now she said, stay with me,” Clint said. 

“What else did she say?” Steve asked. 

“Stay with me. They need you. They fear me. You can see what they can’t.” It didn’t make sense to him. “I thought you and Steve were the “they” it keeps telling me to help, but you don’t fear her.” 

“It’s maddening,” Bucky agreed. “Why these things can’t be complete sentences with proper nouns, I’ll never understand.” 

“True about the fear though,” Phil mused. “Ghost stories and all sorts of tales about women in the woods. Whoever she was in life, she was powerful, so much so that she can keep herself alive in the veil.”

“And Barton here does see things in a way no one else does,” Bucky added. “Comes in damn handy when we need it.” 

Wings fluttered and Bernard sailed over their heads, landing on a low hanging branch in front of them. The cat startled, digging its claws into the thick padding on Clint’s shoulder, and hissed. 

“He’s a friend,” Clint told the feline. The cat didn’t seem convinced; he jumped down onto the front of the saddle and pressed against Clint’s stomach. Clint chuckled and scratched it under its chin. “Yeah, I know, he’s a predator, but he’s really a big pushover. I bet he’d bring you some dinner if we asked.” Bernard squawked and sent a sense of urgency. “Right, they want to know where we are. We should send a message. 

Sam pulled one of the parchments from his pack and tore off an edge. “Just need a way to write …” 

“Here.” Steve pulled a nub of a charcoal stick from a pouch on his belt. “We’re not too far behind them.”

“Find Nat,” Clint told Bernard after Sam had written the note and attached it to the hawk’s leg. “Take the direct route.” 

They relied upon the horses’ surefootedness and Clint’s senses to keep moving forward. No one spoke much; Clint was too busy avoiding steep ravines and animal dens to keep a conversation going. Oh, he knew Phil was angry … the sullen silence spoke volumes of his displeasure at Clint’s capture … but arriving safely was Clint’s top priority. They’d been lucky; the soldiers had been nothing more than a small patrol with shitty instructions and no clue what they were doing. If the lead guard had been smarter, he’d have sent a message off immediately or at least bound and gagged all of them more securely. Instead, he relied upon Clint’s injuries and a pair of manacles, believing them to be no danger … which Clint wouldn’t have been if she hadn’t healed him. 

That was a kicker, her showing up and getting him on his feet again. Of all the strange things Clint had experienced, and some were far beyond the pale of normal, a being who existed in the veil was new and unique. What must it be like, he wondered? Did she know what was happening around her? Could she sense the world, the passage of time? How long had she been there? If Steve was right and there had been that many who tried to harness the magic over the centuries, did she know each time they did? Did she measure the gaps and think of those she left behind, growing older as she never aged?

And how did she fit into the rest of it? Tony and Bruce’s theory of someone tapping the power to destroy wildes seemed feasible, but where did that leave not only her but the other figures who helped fight back the shadows? There were still missing pieces. What he needed was some time to truly sit and ponder what it all meant. But they seemed to always be on the move, reacting and running. Leaving Providence in a rush, deciding on the fly where to go. Stark was right about Clint; he was smarter than he let on. With some quiet and focus, he might come up with answers. If he could have a moment to breathe.

After they topped the ridge, they found a horse trail that wound into the valley and circled between mountains and they made better time. The area was littered with the remains of human habitation; there’d been mining towns at one point before the veins of silver and gold ran dry. Between the peaks, meadows unfolded, creeks filled with fresh cold water running through fertile land that called to Steaders and trappers and others who craved solitude. Even though the southern road was only a couple of candlemarks to the west, the craggy slopes provided privacy and isolation for those who wanted to left alone and those who wanted to hide. Bandits and thieves made their hideouts in these hollows; Clint kept an ear open for any human habitation and circled wide. 

The cat in Clint’s lap curled near the pommel of his saddle tried to sleep, but Lucky was too interested to leave well enough alone. He kept putting his nose on Clint’s thigh, close enough to ruffle the cat’s fur as he exhaled, but not touching. After a few times with no reaction, Lucky started whining, little noises to get its attention. For his trouble, he got smacked with the pad of a paw, a clear warning to leave the cat alone. But Lucky had never learned the lesson of when to back off; he made friends because he was stupidly optimistic, a trait Natasha said he shared with Clint. Finally, after one-eyed glares and more swats, the cat stood, stretched, and walked over Clint’s thigh, across Lucky’s head, and jumped into Lucky’s basket. Three times it circled, arranging Lucky’s fur to its liking before it plopped down on the dog’s side and promptly went back to sleep. 

“Guess we know who’s in charge,” Sam quipped as he watched Lucky carefully settle himself so as not to disturb the cat. 

“Got a name picked out?” Steve asked. 

“Oh, it’ll tell me what its name is eventually.” Clint scratched Lucky. “Cats are particularly picky, not that I blame them. They’re much more independent, like to come and go as they want.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Steve cut a glance at Bucky. 

“Steve gets attached too fast,” Bucky said. “It’d kill him if any animal he befriended left.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just part of life. Animals are like people; they don’t stay.” A squirrel darted along a branch and chittered a warning about a wasps’ nest ahead; Clint squinted into the afternoon sun, looking for the flit of a stinger. When he glanced back, the others were staring at him. 

“What about Natasha?” Phil’s eyes softened as he asked. “I thought you’ve been together a long time.” 

“Nat’s the exception to every rule. Soon as I accepted that, life got a lot easier,” he said with a chuckle. 

Just then Bernard returned with a rabbit for Lucky and a mouse for the cat, dropping them on the ground. The cat refused to jump down until Bernard flew up; when the hawk was far enough away, it attacked the mouse like it was starving, prompting a chuckle from Sam. While the animals ate, Clint took the notes from Bernard, unrolling two of them. The first was Natasha’s handwriting and said, “Yes.” 

“Code, I take it?” Steve asked, looking over Clint’s shoulder. 

“Yes, they’ve arrived. Yes, the coast was clear. Yes, I did an idiotic thing. Take your pick.” Clint tucked the paper into his pocket. “Sometimes keeping it simple is the best.” 

The second was filled with tiny cramped writing that was hard to decipher; the words ran along the edges and spiraled into the middle. “Tony’s pissed,” he told the others as he read the missive. “Completely put out that Natasha dragged him away when he could have done something to stop us from getting captured.” 

“He took an arrow in the back and passed out,” Steve said with a huff. “If he hadn’t been turning when it hit, he’d be in a lot worse condition. As it is, it hit on the upper right side. What did he think we should do?”

“It’s his way of saying he cares.” Clint rolled up the paper. “He believes people only care for him if he’s useful. Comes from his bastard of a father and his mentor, Obediah Stane.”

“Howard Stark.” The edges of Bucky’s lips curled up. “Yeah, he was an asshole, but I haven’t heard of this Stane fellow.” 

“Every mage has a mentor who trains them; Stane was Tony’s. Tried to get Tony kicked out of the Council and hired an assassin to kill him. Real nice guy.” Clint winced as he reached for his waterskin, bruises along his side pinching. 

“Afterbleed,” Phil said. “Magic may knit broken bones but the muscles and sinew are still inflamed. Sometimes they get worse especially if the healing was violent itself. You’ll need some of Bruce’s salve and should take it easy.” 

“Soon as we get there,” Clint promised, fully intending to do it. At least, he thought, Phil was talking to him again. 

The rest of the journey was mercifully short and uneventful. Maybe their luck would hold and it would take a few days before anyone noticed the guards not checking in; they didn’t plan on staying at Briongloid long. Between muddling the trail and moving on, they might get out of this unscathed … but Clint didn’t believe that. No way he could sleep easy if he didn’t try to uncover the truth of this plot and who was behind it, and that meant going deeper, not riding away to lick his wounds. 

After steadily rising in elevation, they came through a wooded area and saw the lake and ruins spread out before them. More of a shallow bowl than a valley, the ground leveled off between peaks, a grassy meadow protected from the wind. The lake itself was the most dominant feature; vaguely oval in shape, its edges fanned out, lapping against rocky shores. Only a few ripples marred the still surface and it gleamed blue and clear in the late day sun. On the far side, tumbled stones marked the walls of the old temple, a flagstone courtyard with the remains of a fountain were overgrown by bramble and ivy. Once, it appeared, there had been multiple buildings and a thriving community; now there were only a handful of cottages closest to them that had been kept up, a small lean-to stable and some rows of an overgrown garden. It was from one of these that Natasha emerged, a dark-haired petite woman at her side. 

“Well,” she said as Clint swung out of his saddle and began to walk Arrow to the stable. “I see you brought another stray.” 

The cat was sniffing at her feet; it sat back so it could look her up and down then wound around her legs, rubbing his dirty fur on her pants. 

“It helped us escape,” Clint explained, tying off the reins and trying to hide the pain that caused. 

“Uh-huh.” She put a hand on her hip. “I saw you go down. Only way you’re walking now is if magic was involved. Bruce has his kit ready; you’re going to need it.” 

“Can I eat too?” Clint grinned at her; if she was ordering him around, everything was right with the world. 

“There’s enough stew for everyone,” the dark-haired woman said. “And the lake water’s clean.” 

“That’s Maria’s way of saying we need a bath.” Phil opened his arms and gave her a hug. “Good to see you, old friend. We could use your eye for details.” 

“Been too long, Phil. I seem to remember you promised to keep in touch when you retired. First thing I get is a message about yet another world-ending crisis.”

“There’s an army on the plain,” Phil offered as an excuse. “Makes traveling kind of hard.” 

“You know how to write,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “But we’ve been busy too; turning down more jobs than we ever have. Piper’s down south on monster round-up; she misses you too.” 

“Monsters?” Clint looked at Natasha as he asked. 

“More northern migration of diseased ones,” she verified. “A Lonugun the size of a horse and a pod of Peri-bugs. I’ll fill you in while you get checked over.” 

He got the message and let her lead him into the biggest of the in-use buildings; Bruce was effusive in his greeting, clearly worried about Clint and taking more than his share of blame for the situation. Helping Clint off with his shirt, Bruce was gentle as he probed the areas, asking all sorts of questions as soon as he heard about the woman’s healing powers. Kodo and Podo had no such compunction; they pounced on Clint as soon as he walked in, ruffling his hair and sniffing him all over, smelling the cat’s scent on him. As Bruce started smoothing salve on the worst of the areas, the cat made his appearance, sauntering in, staring down the ferrets and settling in Clint’s lap, head raised for petting. 

The others came in and out as Bruce worked. Besides Phil’s friend Maria Hill, there were two other Howling Commandos, a man named Wong with a round stomach and big smile and Victoria Hand, a woman with tiny braids in her long hair, each dyed a different color. They’d brought a fourth person with them, a young boy in his mid-teens with raven black hair and a willowy build; he answered to Kurt and had already made friends with the twins and was fast on his way to being Lucky’s new favorite human, tossing a stick in a seemingly endless round of fetch. They’d arrived four days ago which, if Clint was right in his count, meant Phil had sent them a message before he left Triskelia for Providence. While no one outright spoke about it, the kid Kurt had to be the way Phil intended to get the book back to the archives; the mercs were haunting his every step, constantly on guard. 

Grabbing some stew when Bruce was finished, Clint took it outside. His knee was aching from the hours in the saddle; walking slowly around the lake let him stretch and work out the kinks. The cat kept him company, jumping up on the tumbled stones and leaping back down, exploring the ruins. By the time he got to the flagstone square, he balanced the bowl on a remaining portion of the fountain edge for the cat to lick clean and wandered to the edge where the stones continued, four wide stairs still visible, sloping into the water. 

“Water is sacred for many religions,” Phil said, stepping up beside Clint. “I’ve never heard of Iedesi, but building a temple here says a lot about her sphere of influence.” 

“Yeah? Like what?” Clint turned. “She was the goddess of remote places?” 

“Maybe.” Phil’s lips turned up in a half-smile. “I was thinking more about how this place is oriented to catch both sunrise and sunset on the mountains; easy to tell time by the length of the shadows.” 

“You know why it’s called Golden Slumbers Lake?” Clint asked; Phil shook his head. With a wave, Clint directed his attention to the sun which hung just above the cleft in two western peaks. “We’re about to find out.”

“You’ve been here before.” Phil’s eyes tracked the vee of light on the ground as it crept towards the water. 

“You haven’t? I assumed you had.” 

“Maria picked it as a meeting spot,” Phil answered with a shrug. “I trust her.” 

“Nat and I have been here twice, chasing monsters; we cleared out a nest of wyverns that were troubling the southern road and tracked a wounded Yanakora to the ruins.” They’d killed it not far from where Clint was standing, driving it out of a burrow beneath a half-fallen wall; it had lost a battle for leadership of its pack and the pain would have driven it mad eventually, the acidic venom eating away. The death had been a mercy killing but Clint still hadn’t liked having to do it. “Hear things, from time to time, about people trying to make a go of it here; ground’s pretty fertile and it’s isolated enough to keep to yourself. Never lasts though.” 

“If Steve’s story is right, that kind of violence would leave a mark,” Phil agreed. “The priests probably picked this location because of the magical energies; I’m surprised there’s no blight here like there is in the vale.” 

“Temples are usually sanctified, so maybe holy ground makes a difference.” The sun dropped a little more, the sky going pink as the waning rays touched the stone by Clint’s feet. 

“It’s all about sacrifice at the core, though.” Phil reached out, his fingers brushing the line of Clint’s jaw. “I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just … when I saw you get hit and go down I thought you weren’t going to get up, that you’d done it for me, sacrificed yourself so I could get away.” 

“That’s not …” Clint started to object but he didn’t want to lie. “I mean, yeah, I didn’t want you to get caught, but Bruce and the book were part of it too, and I was just going to create a diversion until that damn mace took me by surprise.” 

“Any fight is one you can die in.” Phil’s hand cradled Clint’s face, fingers warm as they slipped into his hair, palm a comforting weight against his cheek. “I thought I’d learned that lesson, but you reminded me how quickly life can change.”

He closed the distance, leaning in, tilting his head and then his lips brushed Clint’s, a feather-soft graze that was more a dream than a kiss. As he pulled back, Clint wrapped his fingers around Phil’s wrist, turned his head, and pressed his lips into the heel of Phil’s palm. Closing his eyes, he sighed, enjoying the touch for a heartbeat longer. 

“Everything changes,” he murmured, stroking the inside of Phil’s wrist. “And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.” 

“All the more reason to take the chance … Oh” A flare of light and the lake began to glow, a golden hue spreading over the surface, a reflection of the fading light. The ruins turned orange and yellow as the whole area took on a hazy radiance. “It’s beautiful.” 

_See._

Clint blinked at the voice, commanding and strong. 

“Did you …” Phil started to ask but fell silent as the light began to coalesce, mixing and mingling until it was shifting up onto the shore, over their feet and into the courtyard. Not one mass or unique figures, it captured movement, some light and panicked, others heavy and plodding. Stopping, falling, running … fear coursed into Clint, certainty of death, and hopelessness of escape. 

_Choose._

A silver of bright yellow-blazed by the fountain; Clint felt the stab of dread, the tug of despair. A swirl of red flowed around it and power pulsed; Clint’s ears popped and his chest tightened as darkness rose, challenging the light. The colors tangled together, never mixing but growing and changing.

Then a shriek rent the air; the cat lunged from where it was crouched, launching itself at the spot and right through it. The yellow splintered and shattered; the red dissolved, sinking to the ground. The black consumed them both before merging into the growing shadows as the lake ceased its glow, sun dipping behind the mountains. 

“Sacrifice indeed,” Phil said. “On sacred ground no less.”

“Was that …” Clint bent and scooped up the cat, “... some sort of vision?” 

The cat butted his head into Clint’s chin and rubbed against him. 

“Vision? You like that name?” Clint scratched behind its ears. ‘Viz it is then.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn turned up a notch! More coming in the next chapters with Phil & Clint and our other pairings too. Oh, and remember that rollercoaster? The six chapters left are going to be action, action, sexy times, action, and action. (No spam, though). 
> 
> Yep, Viz is a nod to Captain Marvel's Goose as well as our favorite sentient robot, Vision. 
> 
> Maria Hill and Victoria Hand are S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and Wong is from Dr. Strange -- they make good Howling Commandos.
> 
> We'll learn more about Kurt in the next chapter. 
> 
> Briongloid is the Irish word for dream/mirage/vision ... and Golden Slumbers is a great old Beatles tune with some interesting lyrics ...
> 
> For those keeping track, Steve listed a number of villains who have tried to tap the veil between worlds, the Nevernever, at the pass. Going backward in historical order, there's been:  
> 1\. Baron Mordo during the Eternal Wars. He opened the veil, brought through dire wraiths, and ambushed alliance forces. Phil tells the story of a group of cavalry who trapped the wraiths in the pass and held them there; the cavalry members all died.  
> 2, Baron Zemo  
> 3\. Johann Schmidt and his wizard Arnim Zola. Phil's tale of the lost legion wandering the mountains happens at this time; according to Steve, it was Zola who chased the legion down, including one who found his way to the temple of Iedesi at Briongliod, where Zola killed him along with all the priests and priestesses.  
> 4\. A demon named Mephisto.  
> 5\. A mad Titan (wonder who that could be?)  
> I'm playing loose and fast with the passage of time but imagine hundreds of years, even centuries, between each one of these events.


	15. Chapter #14: Dangerous Adversaries and a Ghostly Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger finds them and the fight is on. Clint will need his wits and his abilities to save as many as he can. Everyone's limits are tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snakes, why did it have to be snakes? If you don't like the slithering creatures, be warned.

_ “Some things are more precious because they don't last long.” _

  
  


INTERLUDE

“Ew, kissing.” Thomas scrunched up his nose. “I thought you said there’d be no kissing in this story.” 

“I don’t mind it.” William smacked his brother’s shoulder. “It’s just one kiss.” 

“Yeah, that’s cause you want to kiss Theodore,” Thomas replied. “Billy and Teddy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s …”

“All right boys that’s enough,” their mother called from behind the bar. “It’s time for afternoon chores anyway and your uncle has to get ready for tonight.” 

“Aw, Ma!” Thomas whined. “We gotta know what happens!”

“Yeah,” Billy argued. “There’s assassins and an evil supreme leader out there …”

“... and they’ve still got the book …”

“... and nobody’s died yet and you know people always die in these stories …”

“... better not be Lucky or Kodo or Podo or Bernard …”

“... and we don’t know where Bucky’s hand came from …”

“... I want a hand like that …”

“... I want to be a reditch like Natasha …”

“... oh, I hope there’s more spiders. Really big ones with fur and fangs and …”

“Boys.” Her voice brooked no argument. “Cook’s got a list of things to carry up from the cellar and it’s clean the stable eaves and loft week.” 

“Mom,” they complained at the same time. 

She stared at them. 

“Fine.” They rose, Thomas turning back to his uncle before he left. “You’ll finish it for us tomorrow?” 

“Promise,” his uncle replied, holding back his laughter as the two dragged their feet along the floor, moving as slowly as possible. Then he picked up his lute case and took it out to tighten the strings and start tuning for the after-dinner performance. 

“You might want to skim over the next bit.” His sister came to stand beside him, the afternoon sun catching the reddish highlights in her brown hair. “Even skip ahead.” 

“Tommy’s still having nightmares?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet. She nodded. “I’ll make some changes; he’ll never notice.” 

“Thank you.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back, you know. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.” 

“Me too,” he replied. “Me too.”

* * *

“No offense,” Tony said, “but I’m pretty sure you being in lust with Coulson’s ass negates your vote in the matter.” 

“I don’t have a vote,” Clint insisted. “It’s Bruce’s decision. Plain and simple.” 

“But you think he should turn it over.” Tony persisted. “Even though we have no proof who Phil’s working for or even if he can do what he says. I, for one, would like to know how he plans on returning it from here.” 

“I can answer that.” Kurt stood up and stepped closer to the fire, separating himself from the others who were gathered around the pit, seated on the logs that circled it. “I will take it.”

Tony raised an eyebrow and Clint was far too glad that Tony’s attention shifted away from him. Since he and Phil had returned from their walk … their kiss … Tony had been nagging him, pushing to know why Clint trusted Phil. 

“How?” Tony asked. “You’re not a mage; I’d have sensed that. Wong over there is the only one with any level of power and sending a material object that far would take a lot of it.” 

“Tony.” Natasha’s voice held an edge of censure. “I understand your skepticism, but you don’t have to be rude.”

“It’s fine,” Kurt said. “He’s right, I’m no magic-user. But I can do this.” 

He disappeared in a puff of smoke only to reappear beside Tony, tap him on the shoulder, then disappear again, showing back up where he started. 

“Teleportation?” Tony’s eyes flared with interest. “How far can you go? How do you know where you’re going? Can you go anywhere? Through rock? Metal? How long does it take? Does distance affect the time of transfer?” 

“I have to have been there first,” Kurt admitted. “Then I can get back no matter where or how far in the same amount of time.” 

“You have to let me study how you do it.” Tony was warming it. “Wait, do you cross the Nevernever? Are we talking the same dangers as tapping the veil?” 

“It’s not the same as a portal,” Wong answered. “As far as we can tell, Kurt thinks about the place and is there.” 

“Instantaneous travel.” Tony smiled. “Avoid magical traps and energy spikes … imagine where you could go.”

“Until you set off the physical wards when you arrive,” Bruce said. “Which the archives has plenty of. It’s the most highly guarded location on the continent. How do you plan to get in?” 

“With this.” Phil took the triune charm from around his neck and handed it to Kurt. “He can take the book and be there and back again before you can blink.” 

“Or be wherever you send him.” Tony was still chewing on that bit of gristle. “And we’re back to square one; we don’t know who you are and you lied to us.” 

“He saved my life,” Kurt said before Phil could respond. “Phil Coulson is a good man who saw a kid in trouble and helped me despite what I looked like.” Raising a hand, he tapped a small tattoo behind his ear and his whole visage shifted. Skin turned blue, hair coarsened, becoming fur on his arms, and a long tail appeared. “This is how I was born, why my family left me exposed, why I spent a large part of my life in a cage of a traveling circus. I would still be there or be dead by now if Phil hadn’t rescued me.” 

“Hey, kid, I don’t doubt you.” Tony became serious. “And it doesn't matter a whit what you look like. Coulson over there is probably exactly what he claims to be, but he’s not been entirely forthcoming about his part in this erstwhile tragedy.” 

“Stop. I appreciate your concern, Tony, but I’ve already decided; I don’t want to be responsible for any more evil being loosed on the world.” Bruce rose and, with a turn of his wrist, opened the pocket dimension. He drew out the book and then the pouchful of scrolls. “Might as well take these too. They burned down Harvey’s library to get them, so they’ll be safer in the archives.” 

He passed it all over to Phil who tucked the book into the pouch. “I’d be glad to arrange access for you,” he said, “for as long as you like. We have protected rooms that can contain the magic.” 

“I’d like that,” Bruce said with a rueful smile, “assuming the siege lifts and the city stands.” 

“Oh, Triskelia won’t fall.” Phil watched as Kurt slung the pouch over his shoulder. “Might be a while before the city’s open for visitors again, but it will be. One day.” 

With a nod, Kurt teleported.

“It’ll take a minute,” Phil said when Kurt didn’t instantly return. “The archivist on duty will want to chat.” 

“They’ll want to chat,” Tony muttered. “Like you know all about …” He stopped, turned his head, eyes widening. “We. We have …” 

In that second, several things happened at once.

Bruce gasped, hand flying to his temple.

Six minds slammed into Clint’s senses, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. 

Victoria gave a cry of pain and jerked. 

Bucky jumped up, his hand curling around his sword hilt. “We’re under attack. It’s …” 

A crossbow bolt whistled by, slamming into Bucky’s chest, buried up to the black fletching. He reeled, eyes wide, then fell backward into Sam’s arms. 

Two arrows from a second archer on the other side of the perimeter missed their marks.

Someone shouted; Clint ripped his gaze away from bright red blood splattered on the ground and saw Wong throw up a shield made of sparkling red runes, big enough to cover himself as well as Maria who crouched near Victoria.

“Snakes!” Wong called. “In the grass.” 

The viper came up from the ground, aiming for Clint’s ankle, dark brown and tan camouflage scales, mouth agape, fangs ready to sink into his skin. A blur of fur and Kodo had the snake in her mouth, shaking it until it was dead. 

Phil shoulder checked him, knocking him out of the way of another crossbow bolt that grazed Phil’s arm instead. 

A man slipped around the corner of the cottage; dressed in brown leather, his face was distorted by twin scars that ran from chin across to the opposite temple, one eye gone and nose mangled. His voice held a sibilant lisp; a fat python curled up his arm and around his shoulders. 

“Give us the book.” 

Clint risked a glance around when a whimper rose from Victoria; the merc was curled on her side, snake poison running through her veins. Bucky wasn’t moving; Steve had planted himself in front of him, Sam behind. Bruce was barely holding on, body trembling, green spreading under his skin. 

“Or what?” Tony was the one who answered, his hands lined with magic. “‘Cause you sure as hell aren’t going to let us live.” 

“No.” The man tilted his head in acknowledgment, dirty hanks of hair falling over his forehead. “But I can make it quicker.” 

Standing on his right, Natasha’s lips were parted, not moving, but exhaling tiny sparks of red. Phil was on his right, sword free of its sheath, muscles tense and ready to spring into action.

Tentatively, Clint reached out and touched the closest snake, a desert adder that shouldn’t be anywhere near here; a wash of pain and anger, a litany of no, no, no … the coercion was so great that Clint wasn’t sure anything remained of the reptile’s mind. A twisted kind of power had warped it; a wilde, for sure, probably an asphand. Snakelike in the mind, not body, they were usually men and often lived among the reptiles they identified with, but this one was … wrong, the thoughts dark and sharp, someone who took delight in causing pain. 

“We don’t have it,” Bruce ground out the words from between clenched teeth. 

“Now, that would be bad,” the Asphand said. 

He waved his hand and more people appeared. The three on the left were led by a figure shrouded with a hood and cloak, only the ashen skin of its chin visible, a mask covering its face. In front of those on the right was one who seemed female, tight leather sleeveless vest and ebony dark skin. All the others had swords drawn, were clad in black leather, and might as well have a stamp on their foreheads that said ‘assassins for hire.’

“If we came all this way and it’s not here, well, Yotta will be quite angry. She hates to waste time and effort.” 

The female gave a crocodile smile; fire kindled on her fingertips. A third wilde, she had to be a pozar, yet another bad sign since Clint had never known a firestarter who was in their right mind. Something about heat and their brain, or at least that’s what Natasha believed. 

“It’s the truth,” Tony told him. “We left it in Providence.” 

“Oh, that’s much too pat an answer,” the Asphand said. “And we know it’s not in your lab, Anthony Stark. We’ve already searched it; I think it’s still burning.” 

“Son of a …” Tony started forward but Steve caught his arm and held him back.

“He’s goading you into attacking,” Steve explained. “They’re probably contracted to keep some of us alive for questioning; there’s an exception if they kill you to protect their own lives.” 

“Interesting.” The man looked Steve up and down. “You should know our standard indemnity clause doesn’t cover non-humans; wildes and anything else we run across are fair game.” 

“You’ll lose if you try. Trust me, we don’t play fair.” Sam’s challenge was practically an angry growl.

“That’s enough talk,” the hooded figure interjected. “Let’s kill them and find it ourselves.” 

Clint felt the tensing coil of control, the increasing swish of snakes’ tails; the attack was coming. He pressed the smaller adder, easing through the top level of what was far too human intent, looking for any sign of its animal nature. 

“Now, now, patience, my friend,” the Asphand told his colleague. “They’re much smarter than we were led to believe; I imagine the book is stashed somewhere they think safe. A pocket dimension, perhaps, or a place with portal access like Stark’s lab. The good scholar has the mark of some such spell on his arm, a somewhat clever solution. Open your magic pouch, Banner, and show us what’s inside; maybe we’ll make a deal.” 

“No.” Phil took a step forward. “The Shīshīn League doesn’t make deals and you don’t leave witnesses. If we die tonight, we take our knowledge with us.” 

“If that’s your choice …” 

With a pop, Kurt returned, teleporting back in the same spot he left. 

“What the …” He froze. “Oh, fuck.” 

“Ut illi!” the Asphand commanded. A black mambo snake struck but only passed through empty air as Kurt vanished. “Take them!”

All hell broke loose.

A gout of flame burst from the Pozar’s hands; a wall of magic from Tony met it head on, deflecting it to the side.

Arrows whizzed past Natasha as she pushed Bruce behind her and braced for the onrushing attacker. 

Phil charged as the hooded figure raised its hands and began to chant, a deep undercurrent of rhythmic sounds that ran through the ground and up Clint’s spine. One of the mercs stepped in Phil’s path and their swords clashed. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Clint sprinted for the cottage; the wall partially shielded him from the projectiles and he could concentrate on the snake’s positions. “Steve. Rattlesnake on your twelve.”

Another crossbow quarrel almost hit Steve but he was already in motion, sword slicing at a snake slithering towards Sam’s leg. 

With the python hanging on its master, that left three to find. The closest was the adder; Clint jumped further into its mind, pushing back against the Asphand’s control. 

Reptiles had never been easy for him; he had an affinity for mammals and birds, always felt more comfortable with the shape of their thoughts. Snakes were … slippery, more linear … it was like peering around a right angle to understand them. This one was worse, filled with sharp edges that didn’t fit, patches of darkness that blotted out the rest. The best he could do was tug at the snake’s natural instincts, the basics like being hungry or tired. 

“Find a rock, crawl under to stay warm,” Clint murmured. The adder circled, confused, and Clint kept pushing until it crawled off, looking for a place to hide.

“Rise!” The hooded man called. “Serve me!” 

Mist floated up from the lake, faint at first then more substantial. In the old courtyard, smoke wound up from between the broken stones, curling in the evening air, forming into small clouds then gathering into larger figures. Limbs elongated, misshapen heads, roiling bodies as if internal winds were constantly blowing. 

“Necromite.” Natasha spat the word. With a spin and slash, she cut down her opponent, knocking him down with the power of her slice. “Let the dead stay at rest, damn you.” 

“Guys,” Tony called, his arm shaking as he held the shield against a blazing rush of fire. Wong was beside him, using his magic to keep the stream of flying missiles from finding their mark. “Not sure how long I can keep this up.” 

Steve and Sam and Maria were hard-pressed by two mercenaries, the flashing and clanging of steel ringing above the crackle of flame. The mercs were good; they were pressing the three back, step-by-step, keeping even Steve’s feints from hitting. One of them got under Maria’s left guard and left a thin slash along her ribcage; only her fluid turn kept them from doing more damage. Sam sidestepped an arrow but caught the edge of a gout of flame, shirt sleeve asmolder after he tamped it out. 

The archers he could do something about. Taking a deep breath, Clint reached out. 

“Find,” he told Lucky. 

Kodo and Podo climbed his legs, keeping watch for slithering dangers. 

“Find,” he told Bernard. 

The dog circled east while the hawk went west, one with nose to the ground, the other with sharp eyes above. 

It didn’t take long for Bernard to spot the bowman; she was in a tree, too close to a hornets' nest. One touch and they poured out, angry buzzing surrounding her, stinging her over and over. Her scream bounced off the mountains and echoed as she fell to the ground. 

The second was closer, crossbow range shorter. 

“Nat! Lucky’s marked,” he called. 

The simplest ways are always the best; years of training and Natasha could key off any of the animals, use their locations to send her own magic where it was needed. Clint didn’t need eyes on the man to know what would happen next. A ringing shriek of terror was enough to know some of Natasha’s sisters had found him.

A sudden flash of intent swamped him. Clint shouted a warning as a king cobra rose up from the ground; it struck with astounding speed, aiming at Bruce. Before it hit, Natasha shoved Bruce out of the way; the fangs sank into her thigh. She stumbled; Bruce caught her before she fell. With a shriek, Bernard swooped down, catching the cobra unawares. Talons ripped its head from its body before the hawk flew away. 

“Nat!” Bruce cried out her name as he laid her on the ground. She reached for him, her fingers stroking his face as he bent over her and whispered something Clint couldn’t hear. 

“Son of a bitch.” Clint pushed away from the wall and stalked the Asphand’s way. “Enough of this.” 

He slammed into the two remaining snakes, shoving out the Asphand’s magic, yanking ruthlessly at the dark places. The mambo broke first, its mind a jumbled mess of fear of the man who’d controlled him and desire to be free. It found a chink in tumbled stones and burrowed deep, curling in an isolated spot to hide. The python took longer, brain clogged with a distorted sense of belonging, and Clint had to rip the tie apart before the snake roused. 

“Stop.” The Asphand tried to grab the pythons coils as it slid tighter around him, circling his chest. “Listen to me! I’m your master!” 

Cold seeped under Clint’s skin as the first tendrils of mist brushed against him; insubstantial fingers skimmed the back of his knuckles leaving a trail of ice that started to burn. Too caught up dealing with the snakes and archers, Clint had forgotten the Necromite. Calling the spirits of the dead was one of the eeriest of the wilde powers; some used it to send lingering spirits on to the next world, but others used the ability as a weapon, trapping and sending left behind essences to do harm. 

Crowding closer, the ghostly figures flickered, reflecting fire and the rising moon. They had no face, darkness at their cores, the black a spiraling pool that drew Clint in and tried to drag him down. Pain … lost … alone … cold … A sharp bite pulled him back; Clint jerked his hand away from Podo’s teeth then gave the ferret a quick scratch. “Thanks,” he murmured then shouted, “Don’t look in the spectres’ eyes!” 

Drawing his knife, he passed through the ones near him; the touch burned like the spiky tingles of frostbite, but he was through quickly and dodging around other poor souls until he came to where Natasha was on the ground. Bruce was kneeling beside her, heedless of the spectres’ touch, eyes unfocused, rocking back and forth as he held her hand. 

“Bruce.” Clint touched his shoulder. “It’s okay, she’ll be okay …”

“No.” Bruce shook his head in denial. “She’s gone, Clint. She’s gone. The poison ..” 

Throwing his head back, Bruce howled in pain and he began to change, muscles expanding, ripping his shirt, and popping the laces on his vest. Clint skittered away; even the ghosts scattered from Bruce’s wrath. Skin turned dark green as Bruce clenched massive fists and pounded them on the ground. 

“NO!” he roared and charged; the Asphand looked scared for the first time. Arms already filled with a pissed-off python, he wobbled as he tried to get out of the way. 

“Yeah!” Tony cheered, words ragged and weaker than normal. “Kick his ass, Bruce then come get this bitch!” 

Clint didn’t have a clear shot at any of the wildes, but he did at the merc who was trying to corner Sam; his knife hit the man’s eye and he fell dead. 

“Watch out!” Kurt yelled as he appeared behind the firestarter. He threw his arms around her; streams of fire cut across the ground as she struggled. Then Kurt was gone, taking her with him. 

Before Clint could turn his head to look around, a scream told him where they were. High above the lake, Kurt let her go, teleporting as she fell, hitting the surface with a loud sound and sinking under the water. 

“Yes!” Tony sagged as he let the shield drop. 

The sound of breaking bones was unmistakable; Bruce had the Asphand by an ankle and smashed him into the ground like a rag doll for a second time. The python made its escape, its master good and dead. 

Bruce tossed the body aside; his eyes fell on the Necromite. “Leave my friends alone.” 

“Bruce, wait!” Clint tried to intervene, but it was too late. The assassin had no chance; two leaps and Bruce was on him. His dagger didn’t break Bruce’s thick green skin; fists pummeled him and he was dead in seconds. 

“They hurt Nat.” Bruce snatched the merc in front of Phil next and broke his neck with one twist. “She’s …” 

“No, she’s not.” Clint put himself between Bruce and the others. “She’s not dead, I promise.” 

A keening started, low then rising; the misty figures began to vibrate and Clint could feel it in his back teeth. It grew stronger and the spectres became more distinct, solidifying into creatures from a nightmare, open mouths, keen turning to screams. 

“What’s happening?” Wong threw a spiral of magical symbols that flew right through the nearest ghosts. 

“The necromite who calls them, controls them. Without him, they’re free to do what they want,” Clint explained. 

“So what, they scream a little, leave cold spots …” Tony cried out as a spectre’s arm sank into his chest. He spasmed, hit the edge of the log, and tumbled over backward. 

Sam kicked the last mercenary, knocking him into a cluster of spectres. The mist flowed over the unlucky man and he screamed as it slid into an open wound, skin turning icy blue around it. With one swift stroke, Steve ended the man’s life. 

“They avoided the fire,” Maria said, panting and out of breath. “Wong, can you …”

Small balls of flame appeared and Wong sent them spinning towards each of them, spectres scattering from their paths. Clint caught his and waved it in an arc, clearing the way to Bruce who was still large and green but decidedly calmer. With Phil joining them, they stood, back-to-back around Natasha, Lucky and the cat curled up on her. The twins were inside of Clint’s shirt. 

“So we just wait them out?” Sam asked. He, Steve, Maria, and Wong were circled around Bucky, Tony leaning on Steve’s shoulder. 

A frightened neigh echoed from the other side of the cottage. Kurt disappeared with his flames then they heard his voice comforting the horses. 

“They’re troubled spirits,” Steve said. “Can they be put to rest or sent on to what’s next?” 

“A priest could do it, maybe,” Wong answered. 

“Coulson can.” Tony coughed, his voice rough and scratchy. “Can’t you, Phil?” 

“I’m not … I don’t …” Phil sighed. “I can try, but I can’t promise anything. I’ll need my ...” Kurt popped up next to him, triune medallion in his hands, disappearing as soon as Phil took it. 

“Useful guy,” Sam murmured. 

“Try that prayer you used to say over the dead,” Maria suggested as Phil stared at the three spirals. “The one about snow and hail.” 

Holding the medallion up, Phil began. 

“O Triune Gods, forgive the living and the dead, those present and those absent. We ask your protection for those alive and your blessing for those who are dead.”

The silver began to glow; Phil’s voice grew in strength. 

“Let not their souls be lost, forgive them and have mercy on them and forgive them, honor their rest and ease their passing from this world to the next; wash them clean with water and snow and hail.”

The spectres paused then drew back; the keening dropped in volume as the darkness in them faded. Phil’s necklace beamed brighter, a beacon casting across the lake. 

“Three-Who-Are-More, give them a home better than this home and a family better than this family.” 

The ghosts drifted apart, fading into the evening sky, following the reflected ribbon of white to the far shore before they were gone. 

“Admit them to Paradise and protect them from the torment of the grave and those who would disturb them; make their grave spacious and fill it with light."

Clint blinked as Phil himself began to shine, pearly outline around his body. Quietly, the last spectres dissipated until only two remained. Standing by the old fountain, the woman was cloaked in red, the man with a yellow pinpoint on his forehead. She raised a hand to them before taking his; behind them, a rectangle of bright opened and they stepped through. Where they had been, green plants sprang up between the stones, little red flowers blooming in the cool of the night. 

_ Thank you. _

“Well, that wasn’t how I saw this evening going.” Tony eased down onto the log near where Bucky lay. Ever so gently, he stroked the back of Bucky’s flesh hand, not hiding the tears gathering in his eyes. 

“Victoria?” Phil asked Maria; she shook her head. “Damn it. Damn it all.” 

“Natasha.” The green was gone and Bruce was human-sized again; he dropped his knees next to her and looked up at Clint. “You said she wasn’t dead.”

Clint laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “She needs time and a safe place to commune with her sisters.”

“She’s a reditch,” Wong said. “They are immune?” 

“Not immune,” Clint tried to explain, but Natasha had always been better at the intricacies of her training. “She calls them anti-toxins, built them up so she won’t be affected by poison, but it takes will and energy to fight it off.” 

“Ow,” Bucky groaned. “That fucking hurt.” 

Tony jerked back so fast he almost fell off the log. “What the fuck, Barnes? I thought you were dead!”

“Hit my head when I fell, I guess.” He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and winching. “Did I miss anything?” 

“Snakes. Assassins. Firestarter. Necromite.” Steve offered Bucky a hand up. “Bruce turned green and Tony had a close encounter with a ghost. Pretty much slept through the whole thing. Could have used your help; it was a tough fight.” 

“You seemed to have a handle on it,” Maria said to Steve. “Those were some damn good moves.”

“I could say the same; you certainly held your own. That spinning kick? You got so much force behind it,” Steve replied. 

“If Steve’s flirting was that bad, I’m glad I wasn’t around for it.” Bucky tugged the crossbow bolt from where it was caught in the edge of his leather jerkin. 

Looking at the heavy metal tip as Bucky laid it on the log, Clint couldn’t believe it. He’d seen the whole thing, the quarrel’s entrance wound and how deep it had gone, digging a hole in Bucky’s chest. There was no way he should be alive, much less walking and talking. 

Bucky caught Clint’s stare; he winked then shrugged. 

“Who were they?” Kurt asked. “Are there more of them? What are we going to do?”

Everyone grew somber in the knowledge that it was too dangerous to stay here and too dark to risk the horses on the trail. PLus, Clint’s body was still bruised and hurting from earlier and he was close to being too exhausted to be of any use. Tony wasn’t much better off; Clint could see the tell-tale signs of broken stitches and new bleeding from where the Gidran solder’s arrow hit. Natasha was unconscious and there was Victoria’s body as well. 

“If they were Shīshīn League …” Wong began. 

“Fuck.” Bucky mumbled a curse at the name. 

“They were,” Phil confirmed. 

“... they’ll have reported their movements and their plan of attack. That means the others know where we are and will be coming once the first team doesn’t report in,” Wong finished. “Only question is how long we have and if we can afford to wait for morning.” 

“Wherever we go, they’ll follow,” Maria said. “Supposedly, they have a Ranadar with tracking skills to rival the legendary Esehsun of the North.”

“Bet they can’t track teleportation.” Tony nodded towards Kurt. “How much can you take with you on each trip?”. 

“It’s not weight, it’s size. I can do the horses, but it has to be one at a time,” Kurt said. “Animals tend to get upset; I think it throws off their sense of balance.” 

“Good thing we have a Dreagst to keep them calm,” Tony replied. 

“We have to have a destination first,” Maria interjected. “We can’t risk going back to Shield’s camp; if they know who we are, they’ll be on watch for us to make that mistake.” 

“We go the one place they can’t follow,” Phil said with a resigned voice. “Triskelia.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, but this chapter was freakin' hard to write. I went with short quick sentences to heighten the tension and get in all the action. I wanted this to be a fight fraught with peril and real danger, plus it had to set up the evacuation to Triskelia and the revelation of who (what?) Phil is that's coming next. My muse really kicked my ass this week to get me to finish this. 
> 
> Bet some of you forgot our erstwhile bard telling the tale to his nephews, eh? Look at 'em, Anakin, clues everywhere. Look at all the clues!
> 
> I'm giving Tony credit due here -- he's the realist of the crew, the one who's been stabbed in the back before. He might like Phil, but he doesn't trust him yet. 
> 
> Of course, Natasha would have antibodies to deal with poison; how else could she interact with deadly spiders? Yes, yes, the venoms are different, thus why she has to "fight it off." But it's just like her to take the bite instead of Bruce. 
> 
> How did Bucky survive ... hmmmmm ... 
> 
> Poor Victoria Hand; scarily competent but an unseen poisonous snake can take out anyone and these assassins have high-level skills. 
> 
> I haven't forgotten Jarvis! Clint and he are going to have a conversation soon.
> 
> The prayer that Phil says is based on the Islamic prayer for the dead called the Salat al-Janazah. Rewritten for this story, of course. 
> 
> For those keeping track, the wild abilities I've named/used so far are:  
> Dreagst (Clint): ability to talk/commune/work with animals like a druid  
> Reditch (Natasha): a sisterhood of red witches who talk/commune/work with spiders  
> Asphand: generally men who take on snake-like mental characteristics (not physical) to talk/commune/work with the reptiles  
> Pozar: a firestarter, someone who talks/communes/works with fire. Almost all are driven crazy by the ability  
> Necromite: ability to raise dead souls who are lingering to talk/commune/work with. Can send them on to the next world.  
> Seer (Raku, the young man in the Inn in Providence): someone who sees/communes/experiences possible future events  
> Nagini (the young women in the Inn): generally women with physical snake characteristics and can talk/commune/work with reptiles.  
> Ranadar (Esehsun of the North, mentioned): a tracker with exceptional perception, often thought to talk/commune with nature to find clues  
> XXXX (Bruce): stay tuned for the next chapter.  
> Whisperers (Mack, Betty Ross, et al): people with mild versions of wilde abilities like Mack with horses and Betty with herbs and potions.


	16. Chapter #15: Breakfast and Bathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets a moment of clarity ... and a bit of voyeurism ... in the City of Triskelia.

_If {a thing} is worth having, it’s worth waiting for. If it’s worth having, it’s worth fighting for._

  
  


It was midday when Clint went looking for food, Lucky at his heels and the ferrets in their pouch. Even with a soft mattress and a quiet room, his bruises ached and he was too worried about Natasha to sleep the day away. His knee wasn’t too thrilled about bearing his weight at first, but it flexed and stretched as he walked the hallway and took the one flight of stairs down, getting his first daylight look at what Phil had said was a guest house. 

Triskelia, the holy city. As he stepped into the open courtyard, Clint looked up to see a blue and yellow minaret, the sun flashing on the silver trim. A splash of water came from the fountain in the wall, a clear trough filled and waiting for horses and humans. In the middle was a patch of green where a tall rowan tree grew, spreading its shady branches over benches and flower beds. On the other side, the stable doors were open, the smell of horse and fresh straw spilling out. 

Last night, it had been full dark when they arrived, Kurt depositing him in front of the stable door before he popped out again. The process of moving all of them from the lake to here took far too long and was more complicated than Clint had imagined. There was packing to do, and determining the order of who went first and last and how to safely transport the horses was a delicate affair. Tony needled Phil, trying to get him to admit what everyone else had already figured out; only when Tony’s exhaustion caught up with him did he stop. Still, he was right about needing to prepare their hosts for the visitors about to descend upon them, so Kurt grabbed Phil and away they went. He was gone a quarter of a candle mark; when he came back, he took Natasha next, Kodo curled up on her stomach. 

Then it was a comedy of errors of “no, you go next” and “no, I’ll stay here” until Tony fell asleep with his head on Bucky’s shoulder and Kurt teleported them both together. Podo went with an exhausted Bruce, Lucky bounded up in Steve’s arms, Wong carried Victoria’s body with him, and Maria took her pack. Jarvis, it turned out, was the best at keeping the horses from getting antsy while waiting, so Clint picked up Vision the Cat and carried Bernard on his shoulder for his turn. He took a deep breath and by the time he went to exhale he was there. One-by-one the horses appeared; he stepped up and soothed them, passing them off to their riders as soon as they were calm enough then Jarvis helped herd them into their stalls while Kurt went back to get the last member of their party, Sam. 

“Can I help you?” a woman asked. She was slim, petite, with long dark hair pulled back in a neat braid. Dressed in the same grey uniform as the people who met them last night, she had a half-cape over one shoulder, a drape of darker grey held with a silver pin. City guards, Phil had told them, and this was one of their facilities where visitors were housed.

“The kitchen?” he asked, vaguely remembering something about an eating room. He’d used all of his remaining energy to make sure Natasha was taken care of and had everything she needed and hadn’t paid attention to anything else. Once she’d been installed in a bed with an open window, Clint had put out the call and left her to her sisters’ ministrations. He’d checked first thing after waking; in a light sleep, she’d roused when he entered, tossed a pillow at him, and promptly went back to sleep. Vision had merely lifted his head, given Clint a stink eye look, then curled tighter into the crook of Natasha’s knees.

“Through the archway and to the left.” The woman began walking that way, so Clint followed; she scratched Lucky’s head when he bumped her hand. “The bathing room is on the right if you need it.” 

He probably was ripe; the last time he’d cleaned up was a perfunctory hand wash in the lake and his last bath had been before they left Malleton. But his empty stomach grumbled loudly and the woman chuckled at the sound. 

“Come on,” she said, motioning Clint to follow. 

The dining room wasn’t hard to find; it was easy to follow the smells once he was in the building. Four trestle tables filled the floor; a big stone fireplace dominated one wall while the other was open to the kitchen, a long counter filled with trays of food. Ham and sausages, potatoes and beans, peas and broccoli, slices of dark bread, and a bowl of chilled butter were lined up with empty plates. Clint stared at the spread, surprised to see such a wealth of choices in a city under siege. With an army camped at their gates, how did they have such plenty to spare? 

“Mel!” Maria waved from where she was seated next to Wong at an otherwise empty table. Two others were filled with people in the same uniform as the woman from the courtyard. “Come, sit with us … unless you’re too good for old friends.” 

“Old being the operative word,” the woman replied. “Scoot over and I’ll bring a carafe. I know how much coffee you two drink.” 

She motioned for Clint to go first; he took a bit of everything, slathered the bread with butter, and deposited his plate before going back for a mug and some of the delicious smelling brew. He sipped it before he put anything in it and the taste burst in his mouth, smooth with just a hint of bitter that a touch of sugar took care of.

“Oh, that’s good.” He took a long drink, heedless of the heat. 

Lucky nudged Clint’s leg, reminding him they were hungry too, so Clint put the coffee with his meal and went back to get plates for the animals. As soon as the twins poked their heads up, the cook, a big burly man with tattooed arms, beamed a broad smile and insisted on making eggs for all three of them. Clint sat down, dividing up the scrambled pile, putting Lucky’s portion on the floor and the ferrets on the bench. Then he cut up ham bits and added those. 

Before he could start on his own food, Bucky and Tony entered, Steve and Sam behind them. Tony made a beeline for the coffee, poured some and drank most of it in one long swallow. Then he stopped, stared at the cup, slowly brought it up to his nose, sniffed, sipped, then let out a long sigh as he filled it back up. The mage wasn’t wearing his sling; he’d only been wounded yesterday and he’d fought last night. Instead, Tony juggled mug and plate, building a mound of food twice as large as Clint’s. 

“The more you use the arm, the longer it will take to heal.” Bucky took the plate of food Tony had loaded up and carried it to one of the trestle tables. Stark followed with a steaming mug of coffee; now that both hands were free, he wrapped his palms around it and breathed in the aroma. 

“Do you know what this is?” Tony held up the hot liquid. “Ospina beans, grown on the Eastern slopes of Esmiselde Island by monks who took a vow of silence. They only sell to approved buyers. They turn down Kings and Lords but sell to little inns in the middle of nowhere; even the Supreme Leader of Gidra can’t get any. This, my friend, is as close to paradise as you’ll get in this lifetime …” he paused, ran his eyes over Bucky’s body “... outside of my bed, of course.”

“Coffee’s good.” Steve’s plate was piled even higher than Tony’s as he sat down. “It’s better than the sludge Sam makes.” 

“Heathen. Anything’s better than trail sludge.” Tony wrinkled his nose and scooted away from Steve on the bench. “Now, when am I going to get a look at that hand? Nothing I’ve ever read about it mentions any healing, much less enough power to bring someone back from the dead.” 

“Back from the … I didn’t die, Tony,” Bucky insisted, looking around to see who was listening. The other guards were busy with their own conversations, but Maria, Wong, and Mel were paying attention. “And we don’t talk about … the other thing.”

“Save me the denials, handsome. I know a fatal hit when I see one.” Tony shoveled a big bite in his mouth, chewed, then washed it down with more coffee, draining it. Mel filled it up again from the pot she’d brought over, placing it on a warming round. “And you’ve been waving that thing around so much I’m surprised the town criers are shouting about it. Now, can I see it? Does looking activate it or does it have to be touch? I know a great protective glove spell that will keep skin from contacting skin … good for delicate and deadly magicks but not so great at more earthy pursuits.” 

Bucky glanced at Sam as he joined them; Sam had skipped subtlety and gone for two plates. “Don’t look at me, man. Been telling you to get that thing checked out for years. It’s so old who knows what shape it’s in.” 

“Yeah, Buck, you and me and your hand.” Tony’s grin widened. “I’m pretty good at investigating the shape of … things”

“Gods and garters.” Bucky’s face flushed. “Let a man eat his breakfast before you hit the puns so hard.” 

Tony snickered. “You want to take a few hits, babe, that’s not going to be the hard part.”

Mel and Maria’s eyebrows both rose. 

“They’re always like this,” Steve told them. “Clint over there’s the worst or the best depending upon your viewpoint.” 

“That explains why Phil likes him then,” Maria said. “Phil and his terrible puns.” 

“Likes him.” Mel’s gaze pinned Clint to his seat. “Phil’s interested in you?” 

“I … I don’t …” Clint coughed, almost inhaling a bit of bacon, then drank coffee to clear his throat. “I’m not sure …” 

“Oh, yeah.” Tony took over the conversation. “Sexual tension, eye fucking, and they kissed last night.” 

“Hey,” Clint objected. “That’s nobody’s business but mine.” 

“Sorry, but you were right by the lake and we could all see you,” Sam said. “Public displays are fair game, right Buck?” 

“Yep,” Bucky agreed. 

“I didn’t … we …” Clint forked a piece of sausage and popped it into his mouth; better to eat than dig himself further into this hole. 

He glanced up to see Bruce pause in the door, his eyes roving the room before landing on Clint and the others. Head down, he followed Sam’s lead with two heaping plates, depositing them on the table before returning for coffee. Clint stacked up the ferrets’ empty ones so Bruce would have a seat. Kodo crawled onto Bruce’s shoulders as soon as he sat down, rubbing his messy hair; Podo jumped over Clint’s plate and ran up Tony’s arm. 

“Hey,” Bruce mumbled after he’d take two bites. “How’s Natasha?” 

“Grumpy,” Clint answered. “She threw a pillow at me when I checked on her; she’ll be in bed until the afternoon at the least.”

“Good, that’s good.” Bruce kept his gaze on his fork and knife. They were going to have to have a conversation at some point, but this was neither the time nor the place. 

“I’m sorry about Victoria,” Sam said to Maria. “Did she have family?” 

Bruce stiffened, shoulders curling in and ducking down further. 

“A cousin east of Darington but they haven’t spoken in years. He’s a true believer, converted after his Lord swore allegiance to Gidra; no love lost there,” Maria replied. “Shield was her family; we’ll take care of her.”

“You thinking of leaving right away?” Mel asked. “Or you going to stick around a bit? Wouldn’t mind a small Shield send-off; I can make the arrangements. Phil will want to come.” 

“Thought we’d head back to base tonight, but we could wait until tomorrow,” Maria answered. “Victoria would like that.” 

“If it’s anything like a Howlie send-off, I’m sure she would,” Sam said.

“You boys Howlies?” May’s one eyebrow rose. “I didn’t think there were any troops this far west.” 

“There’s not,” Steve answered. “We’re from out east, doing freelance work now.” 

“They’re good,” Maria chimed in. “Steve’s one the best fighters I’ve seen in … well, a long time.” 

“Better than Carol?” May’s other eyebrow rose. 

“Yes, but don’t tell her we said that,” Wong tossed in.

“Well, then you’re welcome to come along,” May said. “You all are.” 

Bruce winced and put his fork down, hiding behind his mug. 

“Captain?” a young woman came to a stop by the table. “We’ve got a fire in Ten Mall and some damage to the Nederlathe roof.” 

“Damn wizard oil,” Mel cursed as she stood up. “They keep coming up with new mixtures to get around the wards. Any casualties?” 

“None reported so far, but we’ve got some unaccounted for. The market was just getting started.” 

“Get me a sample so we can get the apothocates started breaking it down,” she ordered. “We’re always a step behind, damn it.” 

“Carbon silicates,” Bruce spoke up. “Mixed with a gypsum glaze. Super easy to magic and holds against furnace blast.”

May’s gaze turned his way and Bruce shrank back. “You’re an apothcate?”

“A scholar,” he returned. “My colleague is the best herbalist in Malleton. It’s her recipe; the potter’s guild uses it in the tile kilns.” 

“Could she show our people how to make it?” Mel asked.

“Yes, but she’s’ in …” 

“Not a problem.” She turned to the guard. “Bring Banner to my office when he’s done and find Kurt.” 

Banner put down his fork and put his head in his hands as she left the room, calling some of the guards to follow her. 

“Should have kept my mouth shut,” he complained. 

“Hey, you were worried about Betty’s safety,” Clint tried to console him. “Maybe this is for the best.”

“The whole Girdan army’s parked outside,” Bruce reminded him. 

“And yet something tells me this is the safest place to be,” Steve said. 

When he was done, Clint took some food and a full mug to Natasha’s room. The cat gobbled down the bits of egg and ham, licking its lips and hopping down from the bed; Lucky jumped up in its place, settling across Natasha’s legs as she roused, sat up, and hungrily took her portion. She’d still sleep the afternoon away, regaining strength but the meal would provide the fuel her body needed to heal. Clint filled her in on the Captain of the Guard, Mel, and Bruce getting tangled up in helping them. She looked concerned at Clint’s description of how Bruce eventually slouched off with the guard but smiled when Clint repeated the increasingly filthy pun war between Bucky and Tony. Talk about sexual tension, the two of them needed to fuck and be done with it or they were going to spontaneously combust, Clint told her. 

When her eyelids drooped, he gathered up a change of clothes and headed for the bathing chamber, the ferrets chittering excitedly and Vision twisting around his heels, Lucky content to stay in the room. It was down some stairs to a warmer sub-basement; two servants ushered him into his own room, complete with taps from the ceiling with running water. As they heated water to fill the tub, Clint mixed some hot with cold in a bucket and put it on the floor; Vision jumped in without hesitation, getting soaking wet then meowing loudly. 

“I see how it is. You want to be clean.” 

Clint began soaping up the cat; it arched its back into Clint’s hands and purred loudly. As the dirt washed off, its fur was revealed to be a deep orange with faint lines of grey. After a good rinse, Clint gave it a good toweling before it found a warm, dry spot, dropped down, and began licking its fur. 

“Your bath is ready,” the servant told him; he left the room with a full steaming tub and extra buckets of warm water. 

Clint made quick work of stripping, hanging his clothes on the provided hooks. He dumped the dirty water from the cat’s bath into the drain then took another bucket to pour over his own head. Quickly, he washed his hair and soaped up, rinsing with more clean water. Only then did he slip into the tub and let the heat surround him. 

The twins, who’d been busily splashing through the puddles on the floor, climbed up on the lip and dipped their paws in, making ripples and chirping to each other. Used to their antics, Clint tuned them out, sank down until the water came up to his chin, and closed his eyes. 

His mind wandered to the problem at hand: the next steps. First was getting Natasha back to full speed; it wasn’t as if he didn’t have things to do between now and then. Arrow needed a through currying, Bernard a wing check, the twins an application of cream, and Lucky a full brushing. All the animals deserved some attention, especially Vision. But that was merely filling time; they still didn’t know who was behind the plot and Clint didn’t like leaving a string untied. So, as his skin reddened and sweat ran down his cheek, he thought about what he didn’t know rather than rehash what he did. 

Who was making the drug Svarog and casting the spell to unleash the disease? The biggest gap was who had the ability, not who had the motivation. Of the latter, there were multiple options for villains of the piece; it was the former that made even Tony scratch his head. Someone who could pull energy from the veil between worlds meant a powerful magic user, but it also required the ability to control the Nevernever. In every story, Steve had told, the person who tried it ended up dead or worse. Absorbed, that’s the term Sam used; taken over by the veil and lost. That’s where they should be looking: either a person powerful enough to actually do it or one who believed they could. That opened a whole new list of candidates; far too many who overestimated their abilities like Tony’s mentor Obediah Stane or Lord Whitehall or the Gidran Leader. 

The bar of soap bumped his chin, and he opened his eyes to a tub full of bubbles. Kodo was popping them one at a time while Podo scooped pawfuls and rubbed them over his fur. Clint chuckled as he slipped his feet above the water, the cool air welcome. Both ferrets darted to the end of the tub and began playfully nipping at his toes as Clint wiggled them.

Voices came from the bathing room next door. He recognized Tony’s timber; the quieter one was probably the servant responding. The clink of buckets, the rattle of the pipes in the wall, and the door opened and shut. Tony hummed to himself and Clint floated in his thoughts until he heard a third voice, Bucky’s voice. There was muffled talking, Clint only catching an occasional word, then a thump and a laugh and a long drawn out groan. 

“Fuck my life,” Clint murmured as a moan was followed by splashing water. 

Sitting naked, listening to the rise of Tony’s breathy begging and Bucky’s increasingly creative cursing … Clint didn’t need to know the exact words, their tone was clear enough … made his mind jump to Phil, and his cock stirred and started to plump. Bending a knee and shifting one leg, he soaped up his hands and gave himself a long, slow stroke, letting the image of Phil astride his horse fill his mind’s eye. Biceps flexing under his shirt as he guided the reins, ass muscles bunching as he kept his seat. 

Clint hardened almost instantly as other thoughts of Phil crowded in now that he’d given permission: the way his smile was slightly crooked, how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed, that spark of intensity when he was telling a story, the dip of collarbone visible through the open collar of his shirt. Clint’s arousal spiraled into his gut, muscles tensing as he cupped his balls with his other hand and stroked harder. The memory of the kiss made his lips tingle; he licked them, the salty taste of sweat and imagined hint of Phil clinging there. He bit back a moan, sound vibrating in his throat. So close, so fast, his orgasm surprised him and he came in two jerks. 

“Oh, oh, yes, baby,” Tony distinctly said.

A clunk and splash and Bucky rumbled a reply then a steady thump started, slow but building as something heavy rocked in a growing rhythm. Clint grinned and closed his eyes again; the water was still warm and he was languid from his own release. No harm in staying; as Bucky had said, if it happened in public, it was fair game, and being loud enough to overhear counted. He lay in the tub and thought of puns he could use later. 

* * *

“Barton.” 

Clint ran a hand along Arrow’s flank and gave the horse a loving pat before he turned. Standing outside the stall was Mel, her arms folded across her chest. 

“Captain.” He stepped out and shut the gate behind him. “I hope no one was hurt in the fire.” 

She blinked; used to reading Natasha’s expressions, Clint knew that meant he’d surprised her. 

“A broken arm and a few minor injuries. Mostly from the smoke,” she answered. “Training’s paying off; the more we can help them help themselves, the better the outcome. We can’t be everywhere.” 

“A good guard is one that makes itself useless.” Clint had heard that somewhere. “What can I do for you?” 

“Your presence has been requested for an official audience.” 

The statement was formally worded and that set off Clint’s inner warning. He knew little of the governing structure of Triskelia, just that the city did everything in threes; there was a triumvirate at the top, a church person, a scholar, and a town representative, each with their own title, but he couldn’t remember any of them. 

“Interview or interrogation?” He’d expected to answer for their abrupt arrival; after all, they’d simply appeared, unexpected and uninvited, dragging trouble behind them, in a city with problems of its own. 

“Information gathering. You may know something that gives us an advantage. Meeting’s in the temple, so dress accordingly. Meet in the courtyard in ten.”

“Well, that was abrupt,” Clint muttered as she turned and left. He left the stables and, opening the door to his room, he found Natasha perched on his bed, petting Lucky. 

“Tell me you weren’t in the stables in your clean clothes.” She was wearing her red silk shirt and black embroidered vest, the outfit she carried for formal meetings. 

“I bathed this morning,” he answered. If she was needling him, she was feeling better. 

She tossed him a purple shirt. “Put this on.” 

“Aw, you take such good care of me.” He pulled off the one he was wearing and draped it over the end of the bed. “Did you get this in Malleton when you went shopping?” 

“You don’t buy things for yourself, so someone has to. Leave the vest off. Looks more rakish without it.” 

“Think I might need to seduce someone?” Clint buckled his sword belt around the shirt. “Okay?” 

“Tuck it in,” she suggested. “Phil likes to stare at your ass.”

He rolled his eyes but he did as she asked. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“I’m not trying to be subtle.” She scratched Vision under its chin; the cat stretched then settled back on the bed. “It’s past time for that; the threads are already there.” 

“It’s only been a few days.” And therein lay Clint’s hesitation; in the past, he’d jumped in bed first, thought he’d get to know them later, and learned to regret it. “I don’t want to make the same old mistakes. Phil deserves better than that.” 

“And maybe you deserve to be happy.” She unfolded her legs and rose. “I can see that much, seabhac, that you will be good together. Now come, I want to see who’s in charge of this contradiction of a city. Fresh meat and vegetables in war? There is much more to Triskelia than meets the eye.” 

Steve, Sam, and Bucky were waiting in the courtyard when they arrived; Mel didn’t mention Lucky or the ferrets even though she noticed them. Arriving late, Tony was wearing court finery, the kind that was specifically tailored for him and matched to his favorite color scheme of red and gold. 

“You had that in your pack this whole time?” Sam asked. The three of them were cleaned up but still in their traveling clothes. 

“This old thing? Portal, remember?” He brushed an imaginary speck off one silk sleeve then waggled his eyebrows at Bucky. 

“I thought the assassins broke into your house,” Steve interrupted. “That was a big risk going back, Tony.” 

“Nah, they just found one of my fronts; I keep a couple of places that are for show. Mages are a damn noisy lot; they’ll case the place and check under the bed for secrets. The league trashed a flat in Baffera; broke some pricey bottles of wine but that’s about it,” Tony said with a grin. “Don't worry, I slipped in and out easy and quick.” 

“Yeah, it did seem fast, but soap is slippery that way.” Clint kept his face stoic as he dropped the first of many zingers he’d prepared. Bucky sputtered and went bright red; he even caught Tony off-guard. For a second, Tony stared then he threw back his head and laughed. 

“Hells and spells, Barton,” he said when he was only chuckling. “I didn’t think I could like you more than I already did.” 

“If you’re ready?” Mel didn’t seem amused by the byplay. “Once we leave here, please do not share where you’re from unless told to. It’s best if people believe you are from another part of the city rather than from outside.” 

They all nodded in agreement and followed her through the small door in the gate onto the street. It looked no different than a guardhouse in Malleton or Manchester Fields; businesses were on the ground level, doors open and windows unshuttered. Above were apartments where citizens lived. The gutters had been recently cleaned, the sidewalks wide enough for two people to pass. Most of the traffic was on foot with an occasional wagon; everyone, it seemed, walked where they needed to go. The architecture was a mish-mash of styles as if designers had taken inspiration from all regions. Patterned brick arches were next to stucco walls, lathe and plaster besides carved panels. It should have been jarring but, instead, the variations were more like a patchwork quilt that, when looked at in total, was a beautiful pattern. 

Without a frame of reference, Clint had no sense of what direction they were heading; only through Bernard’s eyes could he get the lay of the city. The ornate tower roofs and spires gave him landmarks; Bernard flew by one and Clint located it on the horizon, orienting himself enough to know they were traveling northeast. A wall peeped over the tops of buildings, one of the three that trisected the city and came together in the middle to form a circle around what looked like a complex of large stone buildings. Bernard did a pass around it and Clint saw a steady flow of people from all three sections walking the paths and entering and exiting. 

They skirted an area where stalls were doing a brisk business for all kinds of products; above was a buttressed room with painted curved sections of wood that formed the roof. Smoke rose from a still-smoldering section but the market below went on uninterrupted, and he realized this must be the part of the city where people lived, where visitors stayed. That meant Mel was Captain of the City Guard; Clint remembered what Phil had said about the old friend who offered him a job and put two and two together. 

Eventually, they arrived at a gate where guards in grey uniforms stood at their post . 

“Afternoon, Harald, Bitenne,” Mel greeted them. 

“Afternoon, Captain,” they replied. 

The cobblestone turned to smooth white slabs, the buildings made with white, grey, and black mottled marble. A unified design reigned, sharper corners, and crenelated roofs with balconies and porches. The largest was in the center, a massive edifice with wings and additions, bridges that connected to others, and large double entrance doors. The road circled it, branched off in three directions from what Bernard could see, flowing into the sections of the city. 

Mel led them to those doors, a full two stories high and into a wide bailey that bustled with activity, but she didn’t slow, taking them into the building proper, through a rotunda with statues and busts and tapestries on the wall, down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs, another hallway and yet more stairs. As they went, people nodded or spoke to her and she responded in kind. Many were in grey uniforms, but others wore black, some in blue, and yet more in white. Finally, after passing two more guard stations, manned by a mixture of colors, they arrived in a small ante-chamber where Bruce waited with Betty Ross at his side. 

“Clint! Natasha!” Betty crossed to them and gave them each a hug. “Isn’t this the most exciting day? I’ve so wanted to see Triskelia and now I’ve got approved access to the archives and a workroom all my own!”

“Interesting time, that’s for sure,” Natasha agreed. “You’re well? We were worried …” 

“Oh, yes, Wesley has taken good care of me. I convinced him to let me stay in my shop … with protection of course … and it’s been the best thing for business! I was concerned at first that being linked to Fiske’s name would be a problem, but after they foiled that one attempt, I’ve been mobbed by new customers. I had no idea how many people worried about contamination and bad batches. Did you know the Chouhan used arsenic-tainted silver alloy to fake imported skin cream? Terrible what happened to those poor people who used it,” Betty said. 

“You always see the good side of things,” Bruce told her. 

“Yes, well, I was wrong about pushing you to go on this whole adventure.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at Tony. “Next time, you come to us, Tony, and we get full-disclosure upfront.” 

“Hey, I didn’t know …” Tony started to protest but the door opened and a young woman entered with Phil close behind. 

Brown-haired and slim, she wore black with a half cape lined in white, a triquetra pin on her shoulder. But Clint’s eyes slid past her to where Phil came to a stop; he was wearing blue -- blue leather pants, a blue shirt under a blue vest trimmed in grey. Unlike Mel and the woman, he had only a pin on his right chest, a circle with a small cross inside. He looked good and Clint did a slow perusal, aroused by seeing him in his natural state of badass confidence. When Clint met his eyes, Phil looked askance; in return, Clint let a slow, lascivious smile crawl across his face and Phil blushed at the implications. 

“Everyone here?” The young woman asked; Mel nodded. “Alright then, my name’s Skye and I’m going to take you from here. You’ll have to leave your weapons, of course, and any mages will need to wear a dampener ring.” She produced a pouch from her pocket. “Standard procedure; everyone who enters the Ionad must do the same. Those with wilde abilities will find them to be limited; the wards in place are quite effective but you won’t notice them unless you try to push against them.” 

Natasha shrugged, started pulling out knives, and putting them in the open box by the door. The others followed suit. Tony took the ring without complaint, his interest clearly peaked. Wherever they were being taken, it was a new experience for all of them. Even Phil shook his head when Natasha asked if he’d done this before. 

“This is above my pay grade,” he said. “I report to the Grand Archivist, not the Sagart.”

“Ah-ha!” Tony jumped in. “So you’re an archivist.” 

“Phil’s the Head Guard of the Archives,” Skye corrected. “He’s the best.” 

“Another Coulson fan, I see.” Natasha looked at Clint when she said it. “Seems to be a lot of those around.”

“I wouldn’t be where I am without him. He found me, brought me in, spoke on my behalf. I’d pretty much given up but he believed in me.” She smiled at Phil. 

“Way I remember it, you helped me out of a jam and I repaid the favor,” Phil objected. “You’ve worked hard to get here.” 

“Aw, you’re so sweet.” She lifted up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “But I’d still be living in that wagon, doing parlor tricks for coins if you hadn’t come along.”

“Another of our projects, eh Phil?” Tony asked. “All this time I thought you were a tough old merc and you’re really just a softie, aren’t you?

“Lies, scurrilous lies,” Phil said with a smile. “Melinda can attest that I’m a grizzled old vet who hates everything.” 

Mel only raised an eyebrow. 

“Give it up, Phil. You’re secret’s out.” 

A chime sounded and Skye grew sober. “They’re ready for you. If you’d follow me?” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting thing about a triquetra, the Celtic trinity knot. While it has three spirals, there's a fourth area where they all join, a center, if you will. 
> 
> Hold on, not only are some big answers coming in the next chapter, Clint might just finally get his man!


	17. Chapter #16: Of Stories and Secrets and the Coming Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and company share stories and learn more about the city of Triskelia. Phil is surprised by a revelation. And they're both tired of waiting for something to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the chapter count since I added the map and to give me a full chapter for an epilogue.

_ The very essence of romance is uncertainty _

  
  
  


The room Skye took them to wasn’t at all what Clint expected. He’d pictured a formal hall where they’d have to stand and answer questions, a royal court with cold benches and marble walls. Instead, they were ushered into a sitting area that had comfortable chairs with ottomans and reclining couches, all arranged to face a wall of windows made of the clearest glass Clint had ever seen. He hadn’t realized they’d climbed so high; from this vantage point, he could see the city, the curve of the dividing walls and angles of rooftops, how the streets looped and made patterns, creating circles where towers rose or green peaked through. 

“That’s the archives.” Phil pointed to a building of arcs and delicate spindles, the largest in its sector; reflected motes of light seemed to dance around it.

“The inside is just as beautiful. If the food was better in the hall, I’d never leave,” a voice said from behind them. The man was a little shorter than Clint, his brown hair brushed back from his face; dressed in simple pants and a shirt the same color as Phil’s, he had startling blue eyes that sparkled with humor. 

“Charles?” Bruce asked, surprise in his voice. 

“Charles?” Phil echoed.

“Ah, yes.” Charles gave a rueful little shrug. “My little subterfuge. I apologize for that, but it’s necessary. Erik teases me about my desire to have as normal a life as possible. Much easier to be just another scholar at the archive or the Collegium than the Nach-Tasgaid of Triskelia.” 

“You’re …” Phil shook his head. “I know I’ve bitched about the safety protocols with you.” 

“And I agree with your assessment. The changes to the indexing are in the works,” Charles said. “I do enjoy our morning klatches with Melinda.” 

“But, you teach genetics and magical mutation at the Healer’s College. Why would you …” Bruce paused. “Shared knowledge is the door to understanding. That’s what you said at the last lecture.”

“It’s hard enough to provide protection for Charles Xavier much less one of the Counsels of Triskelia.” The newcomer was lean and lanky, short hair curling up at the edges; he was dressed just as simply as Charles except his shirt was grey like the city guard. He slipped one hand onto the small of Charles’ back, a proprietary claiming that was unmistakable. “I wanted to thank you, Coulson, for tightening the security at the Archives. Been trying to get them to update their magical wards for too long, but the gowns don’t want to listen to the town’s common sense.” 

“Now, Erik, let’s not start with those old divisions.” Charles’ huff blew a hank of hair off his brow. “There were fire safety requirements to take into account; you can’t just lock doors in a library.” 

“If you’ve got people sneaking out with dangerous texts, you do.” A hint of steel shown in the set of Erik’s jaw. “Could have been much worse and you know it.” 

“Phil caught him and brought not only the book back but the Harvey scrolls too,” Charles argued, unfazed by the other man’s demeanor. “And the new amulet system will let us know the details of who comes and goes, so I consider that a win.” 

“I see you’ve already met Charles and Erik,” said the red-head who swept into the room. Black pants were topped with a white shirt beneath an embroidered vest, triquetras in silver thread over a grey suede. “I’d say they bicker like an old married couple, but they are an old married couple, so …” 

“Jean.” Charles smiled and his face softened. “We were just having a discussion.” 

“I know where your discussions can lead and I’m afraid we don’t have time for detours. We’re at a fulcrum moment; things are balanced on the head of a pin and can tip any direction” Her green eyes roved over everyone in the room; she smiled at Lucky. “Please, sit and be comfortable; we don’t stand on protocol here. Skye, get them a glass of wine or whiskey, would you?” 

They fanned out and found seats. Clint lingered until Phil chose, then perching on the overstuffed edge of his armchair, feeling the need to be within touching distance and following it without question, Lucky keeping close to them both. The ferrets climbed out and made themselves comfortable on the lounge beside Natasha. Skye noticed them, shooting an amused grin Clint’s way. Before she began filling drinks, she poured some water into smaller bowls and put it out for the animals. 

“Thank you for coming,” Jean said after they were all settled. “I understand you’ve had a difficult few days, but the information you’ve brought is invaluable. The fact that there are Stewards of LIght here … it’s been generations since a Steward appeared and that only supports our belief that things are spiraling towards the next attempt. But, before we begin, I believe we have you at a disadvantage; we already know who you are, so I’ll introduce us. I’m Jean Gray, Nach-Sagart, a very official-sounding title that simply means I represent the church; this is Erik Lensherr, Nach-Dion, protector of the city, and Charles Xavier, Nach-Tasgaid, scholar and archivist. Skye?” 

“Already filled them in, N.S.” Skye handed Clint a tumbler of whiskey. 

“Excellent. Charles, Erik? Would you…” 

“No, you go on,” Erik answered; he and Charles had taken one of the fainting couches together and both opted for whiskey as well. “Charles will go on with a history lesson and I’ll be too blunt. You’re best to do it.” 

Charles smiled at his husband and tipped his whiskey in agreement. 

“Well, then, let’s start with the book after it was stolen. Coulson? You tracked it from here.” 

Putting aside his glass of red wine, Phil offered a summary of how he’d followed the trail from the moment the book went missing until he left Triskelia for Providence. Most of them had no idea about Phil’s job or what had happened, and Clint knew only the bare bones. As he told the tale, Phil’s eyes narrowed when he spoke of the third year journeyman archivist who tried to frame an apprentice bookbinder for his own perfidy; Phil smiled when he told of Ward’s punishment, the dark cell he was confined to, alone and isolated. 

Once he came to Lady Wortley’s purchase of the book, he tossed the thread to Tony who spun a yarn from Wortley’s eccentricities and her jumbled home. Charles interrupted twice to ask about Wortley’s field of interest and the other books Tony bought; Bruce jumped in and they got sidetracked for a few minutes about Harvey’s theories and Wortley’s belief that the fae held a cure. Erik got them back on target with a few pointed questions that led to Bruce and Betty doing a tandem retelling of his research and the decision to hire Clint and Natasha. 

“Clint’s a better storyteller than I am,” Bruce said when he’d come to the point where they left Malleton. “He should take over.” 

Clint looked to Natasha for help but she shook her head, so he accepted his fate and began to recount the journey. The others broke in on occasion to add their perspectives and the three Triskelians had lots of questions. The gamlogh and watcher’s yellow spots and northward migration caused Charles to reach for a scroll and pen, scratching down some research terms. Gidran troop movements were Erik’s bailiwick; he drilled in for as many specifics as they could give him of locations and numbers. When Sam passed over the documents they’d taken from the Gidran outpost, Erik called for a runner and sent them away immediately to his aides. The blighted raven creature added more to Charles’ list; the shadows in the Pass were of interest to all of them. Jean particularly wanted to hear more of Phil’s invocations of divine power at both the Pass and against the necromite’s victims; hesitant at first, Phil warmed to the topic as she praised him for his faith. Both Charles and Erik were fascinated by the Hydra’s Hand; only Jean’s insistence they move on got them to the end of the tale. 

“This drug,” Jean said as Bruce and Tony explained what they’d discovered, “you said it has fine granules you couldn’t identify? Were they mixed with an alkyl sulfur?” 

“Yes.” Tony narrowed his eyes. “Busul oil.” 

“It’s worse than we thought.” She exchanged a look with Charles. “They’ve found a deposit of pesokta.” 

“Pesokta.” Bruce’s eyes widened. “Of course.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Bruce explained. “Healer histories tell it was used to fight the wasting sickness; it changed the body to reject the illness. But it’s very, very rare, impossible to find the quantities they’d need. That’s why we didn’t think of it.” 

“It’s also used in transcendence ceremonies,” Jean added. “Tiny trace amounts open the mind, allow new experiences unencumbered by the physical body.” 

“You get high and see the gods?” Clint whispered into Phil’s ear, making Phil give an almost invisible shiver. “Sounds fun.” 

“Pesokta with Busul? Yeah, that could push wilde abilities to the top,” Tony agreed. “Still need a damn sight more magical power than Gidra has to activate the mixture.” 

“Do not be fooled by the Supreme Leader’s pretense of ignorance,” Erik warned. “Alexander Pierce is much more than he shows; he has surrounded himself with powerful people who think to take advantage of him. He plays a brutish tyrant well, but he is using them for his own ends. If he manages to breach these walls, there will be no stopping him. Turning Shīshīn League assassins loose on your trail is nothing to him; he will kill all who stand in his way.” 

Betty’s face visibly paled. 

“Erik’s right,” Charles said. “Pierce is a master at deception; you’ve entered the narrative close to the end and, I hope, at just the right time to help foil his final push.” 

“Which is what, exactly?” Natasha asked. “What’s his endgame?”

‘All good questions,” Jean replied. “And, if you’ll indulge us for a moment or two longer, I believe you’ll understand. But first, I would know more of the voice and the woman and the shades at Briongloid.” 

So Clint told of the woman who answered Natasha’s call and later had healed him, of the veil being open and what the seer in Providence had said. Phil added how the voice had pushed him to trust Clint with the truth of who he was. As they spoke, Erik stiffened, his brow clouding and lips pressing in a tight line. When Clint told of the two figures, a flash of emotion crossed behind Lensherr’s eyes. 

“Do you think …” Erik asked Jean. 

“It was a powerful prayer,” Jean replied. “Perhaps she has found him again after all this time.” 

“She’s speaking to Barton.” Charles put a hand on Erik’s knee. “That’s a good sign.” 

“You know her,” Steve spoke for the first time since they sat down. 

“Her name is Wanda; her father was my distant relative and I have long sought to find her, aid her if I could. Many, many years ago, when another threatened to destroy the world for selfish gains, Wanda and her brother and her lover went to stop it. They arrived at the Pass too late -- too much energy had already been drawn through the portal -- and the only way to stop the cataclysm was to siphon it through herself,” Erik said. “She became consumed by the veil but not before she saw her brother die and her lover taken prisoner. She’s been searching for them ever since.” 

“Thanos?” Bucky asked. 

“Before the Mad Titan,” Erik answered. 

“She’s been in the Nevernever that long? And she’s still able to manifest?” Sam sounded surprised. 

“Wanda was … is … one of the most powerful witches in history. The Veil has an affinity for the ones who choose the moral path,” Jean said. “For those they deem unworthy, well, there are worse fates than death.” 

“You talk about the veil as if it’s alive,” Bruce said. 

The three shared a look; it was Charles who answered. 

“Not in the way we understand life,” he said. “They have no physical form; what you see manifested are the people who have been consumed into the vast whole. The shadows are all that remain of the darkness, leftover dregs of evil intent. The beings of light are the good that sought to protect and save, the essence of their humanity.” 

“And there are the innocent,” Jean added, “those who stumbled in crafting a portal or wandered too close to a worn spot between worlds. Lost, unable to find their way home.” 

“Most think of the veil as thin, a curtain or wall,” Charles continued. “What we see is just the surface; they are vast, like the ocean, so large we only glimpse the tiniest facet of their entirety.” 

“Tony’s metaphor of bubbles,” Bruce suggested. “The worlds are bubbles separated by a membrane, except they’re held up not only by the tension of the surface but also the deep buoyancy of the water below. Think of how deep and wide the sea can be.” 

“Excuse me, but I’m late to this party. We’re talking about the veil that mages part to create a portal from one place to another. They do that all the time and don’t get lost. What’s different about this Pass?” Betty asked 

“A portal’s like a buttonhole,” Tony said. “First thing you learn is to sew the portal tight. You open the way, bind the edges, then go through. Every new magic-user is told horror stories about people who got it wrong, ending up deformed or dead. And if you’re going to make it permanent, you’ve got to lock down any possible bleed through. What we’ve got going on at the Pass is a ragged ass doorway without a frame that’s dangerous as fuck to mess with.” He stopped, his eyes widened, and then narrowed. “You know, I was wondering what Gidra wants from Triskelia; if this Pierce is so smart and savvy, it can’t be that ‘you pollute the purity of humanity’ bullshit. This doesn’t feel like a city under siege; ham for breakfast, exotic coffee, fine whiskey; it’s almost like you have a back door somewhere that you can bring supplies through.”

“Wait, you think …” Bruce caught onto Tony's line of thought a few seconds before Clint made the connection. 

“Damn,” Clint murmured under his breath. He looked at Phil who was unruffled and not the least bit surprised. 

“I don’t follow,” Betty said. “What are you suggesting?” 

“Triskelia is built upon sacred ground,” Natasha explained. “Have you heard the myth of how it was founded? A witch, a knight ,and a scholar. Evil Lord hears of her abilities, does what villains do and tries to take her, but they flee, get trapped here where she calls to the surrounding magic for help.” Natasha paused. “The stories diverge at this point; reditchs say that swamp spiders answered and killed the Lord’s men, thus making this a holy place in our history.”

“The second gospel tells it was the Three who answered, appearing to her in a vision. The witch, the knight, and the scholar represent the Triune, an explanation for the three parts of the city, the town, the gown, and the church. They say that under this very building,is the spot where they gave her the energy and power to destroy their oppressors,” Phil said.

“Like all old tales, the story has a basis of truth,” Erik told them. “There was an early settlement here made up of people with abilities, many who’d been cast out for being different. Eventually, a local warlord attempted to exert his authority. In the attack, the leader of the guard fell and his sister, a witch, ripped through the veil and called for vengeance; the Three blessed her, shaping her magic, sending it back upon the attackers. Afterward, they stabilized the doorway she’d opened and put up protections around the town.” 

“A permanent doorway” Tony sounded awed. “With energy to fuel wards and other spells big enough to cover the whole city. A secure portal.” 

“That’s why he wants the city; it’s all the power he needs to spread the drug and disease throughout the world,” Clint said.

“And it’s all of our jobs to protect it.” Phil reached for Clint’s hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing gently. “To keep it from those who would use it for their own selfish motives.” 

A thought hit Clint. “Wanda. She was a red witch just like the one in the story. That’s why she came when Nat called.” 

“Yes,” Jean answered. “Wanda is my ancestor eighteen generations past. She was a priestess the talent runs in our family.” Red threads trailed from Jean’s fingertips and Natasha returned her smile. “History has a way of repeating itself here in Triskelia. Variations on the same theme in patterns of three. Like the nine of you … three Stewards of Light, three protectors, and three scholars.” 

Phil rocked back, and Clint couldn’t blame him. They’d gathered along the way and he hadn’t noticed; he could only imagine how Phil was feeling. Clint could handle the idea that gods were mucking around with the world, mixing it up and pushing people the direction they wanted them to go. He had a harder time accepting that any god would pick him to be part of some grand plan to save the world. That was a role for someone like Steve or Sam or Bucky, the stalwart heroes, or Tony, the powerful mage, or Bruce the strong scholar, or Phil, a man of deep faith. 

Before anyone could respond, someone rapped on the door; Skye opened it for Melinda to enter. 

“We have a problem,” Melinda announced. “Journeyman Ward has escaped.” 

* * *

“... she said, “That’s a small threat. A very small threat.” 

The room erupted with laughter. 

“Yeah, I’ve met Justin Hammer and that’s being generous.” Tony raised a glass from where he was leaning against Bucky. “To Victoria, speaker of truth.” 

“Victoria!” The others joined him in taking a drink. 

The hoppy ale slid down Clint’s throat; instead of whiskey like Tony, Clint had opted for beer. The unease in his gut pushed him away from getting rip-roaring drunk -- Maria and Wong were keeping pace with Tony on that front -- an unsettling feeling that things were about to spin out of control too strong to ignore. A splinter of doubt worked further under his skin as he ran through the information they’d been given today; Clint was positive some important details had been left out.

After Melinda’s news, they’d been escorted by two guards back to the guest house. Phil, after a string of very inventive curses, left with Melinda, Lensherr, and Xavier on their heels. Didn’t take a leap of logic to know the escape had to be an inside job; Phil would have made sure this Ward character was tucked away safely. Someone had to help him and that meant there were people inside the walls working against them. Gidran infiltration, Clint would bet on it and Natasha agreed. 

The send-off for Victoria Hand had gone on despite the upheaval around them. Melinda had dropped in to raise a glass before leaving again; guards came and went, rushing off to scour the city. Left hanging, Clint and the others had nothing else to do but eat dinner and begin drinking. Tony broke out a bottle of bourbon from his pocket portal and Maria got the key to the taproom. It kept them busy and their minds off of all they still didn’t know. 

“Reminds me of this time we were down on the coast, doing a job for this woman.” Bucky looked at Steve. “What was her name again, the flower whisperer?”

“Chrysanthemum Merigold.” Steve put his empty mug on the table; he’d polished off five refills and showed no signs of being drunk. “Went by Chrysty. She was nice.” 

“She was dumber than a box of rocks,” Sam said. Like Clint, Sam was nursing his ale, not bothering to keep up with the others. “Never knew what day it was or where she left anything. She’d forget her own name … literally … and have to be reminded.” 

“She was odd, I’ll give you that, but she had a good heart,” Steve objected. “Made the best echinacea creams.” 

“Yeah, Steve banged her.” Bucky timed his announcement when Steve was halfway through a sip so he’d sputter and cough. “Did smell really nice, I’ll give her that. Anyway, while we were there we came across this little establishment tucked down a side street ...” 

Natasha was seated with Bruce at another table. A few pints and she’d broached the topic of Bruce’s ability; they’d been talking ever since, slowly easing closer. Ocrneas who used emotions to enhance their strength were so rare Clint had only met one before, a feisty woman bailiff in Esconte. She’d learned to control it and Clint was sure Bruce would too; he would research and study until he understood exactly why and how it worked. 

Bucky was gesturing, moving his hands as he got into the story; some of the city guards who had come in for food had gotten caught up in the yarn. But Clint was distracted by Lucky’s shift and little whine, the ferrets’ inability to settle. Bernard was flexing his wings, sitting on the window sill of Clint’s room and keeping an eye over the city. Even Vision was prowling, checking the perimeter and darting through the streets that surrounded them. There was no calm before the storm; in the quiet of the evening, something was happening and Clint couldn’t shake the feeling he should be out there, not sitting here. 

With a nod to Natasha, he stood; it was late enough that he could leave without too much of a fuss. She tipped her head in reply and Bruce gave a little wave; they went back to their conversation. Lucky jumped up and darted towards the door, ready to go; Kodo and Podo scampered his way quickly. He made a pass by the kitchen window to fill a pitcher of water, then paused in the courtyard to let Lucky and the twins do their nightly business in the grass around the tree. 

“Getting some sleep sounds like a good idea. I should do the same, but Bucky will give me grief if I leave early.” Steve’s footsteps echoed as he came up next to Clint. “The animals can sense it, can’t they? The charge in the air.” 

“Yeah.” Clint watched Podo dart up the tree as Vision came strolling up; the ferret was fascinated by the cat. Vision completely ignored his attempts at friendship. “I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about what comes next; it’s already here.” 

“In the city,” Steve agreed. “Probably has been for a while, infiltrating all three ranks. Seems Pierce really is much better at subterfuge than it appears. That’s a really long game, building a body of followers, moving one area at a time, putting the zealots out front to hide what he’s after. Would take some serious persuasive ability.” 

Clint turned. “Ability? No. No way the Supreme Leader’s a wilde. That’s … no.” 

Steve shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone set out to destroy the parts of themselves they disliked. Mordo wanted to erase magic and he was a mage; his parents had tried to beat it out of him because they thought it the work of demons. Arnim Zola bought into Schmidt’s theory of a perfect race even though he was neither blonde-haired nor blue-eyed. Never underestimate a human’s ability to turn self-loathing around and make it a weapon to destroy others.” 

“He’d have to have a cure handy.” Clint thought about it. “Or an immunity spell.” 

“That he’d use as leverage to keep the others in line. There’s who knows how many he promised to keep in power or to grow their wealth if they helped him.” As Steve spoke, Clint saw the faintest hint of glow outlining him. “Once Gidra has the permanent portal here, Pierce won’t need them anymore” 

Lucky nudged his head under Clint’s fingers; the dog’s unease was bleeding through their connection. “Nat would have known if the head Priestess was lying and the two guys today … yeah, I don’t think so.” 

“Easier to get the second or third tier, the ones who resent being passed over for a position or are really ambitious. All they need to do is crack the door or carry out a book.” Steve sighed and the glow dimmed until it was gone. “You think we’d learn, but we never do. Someone tries to take; someone gives everything to stop ‘em. And yet people keep signing on to both sides over and over again.”

Lucky shifted from Clint to Steve, nosing at Steve’s thigh to get his attention. 

“Yeah, you’re a good boy,” Steve told the dog. “Ah, just ignore me, Clint. Feeling the weight of those lost tonight, that’s all.”

Victoria. Clint barely knew her but she’d died helping them. Wanda. She’d healed him and he could do nothing for her. “That I understand,” Clint said. “Maybe a good night’s sleep will help.” 

“Or another beer.” A smile returned to his face. “Have a good one.” 

Mulling over Steve’s conjectures, Clint dropped the animals off in the room, filling their bowls with water, then took care of his own bedtime rituals. By the time he returned from the bathing room, Lucky had flopped down, the ferrets on his side, and the cat at the other end of Clint’s bedroll. He took off his boots, laid his sword belt aside, the soft fabric of the purple shirt falling open, and clucked at Bernard as he padded around in his socked feet, compelled to tuck everything neatly into his pack rather than leave it strewn about. 

“We’re a wary bunch, aren’t we?” he said to the watchful eyes. “Should I sleep with my bow by the …” 

A sharp knock. 

“Clint?” Phil pitched his voice low. “Are you …” 

He had the door opened before the sentence was finished.

“Phil? Everything okay?” He stepped aside and let him in. 

“No, not really.” Phil was still in his uniform and his hair was mussed from running his hands through it. “Charles told me to go home, get some sleep but I can’t stop thinking about Ward and what that means.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Clint shut the door and leaned back against it. “I’ve had a feeling that there’s more coming all night, that this is a turning point.” 

“Exactly!” Phil paced to the window then back again. “Everyone thinks he’s probably left the city, but I don’t believe it. He’s still here along with whoever’s helping him and they’re up to something. I just can’t see what it is.” 

“Because you're exhausted. You ran off last night after we arrived to report in; have you had any rest at all?” Clint asked. 

“I dozed off in a meeting this morning.” Phil stopped, rolled his shoulders and exhaled, trying to relax. “Melinda said the same thing, but I wanted to stop in for Victoria’s send-off so I came here and instead of going to the dining hall, I turned up the stairs and was knocking on your door before I realized where I was going …” 

Clint took the step and closed the distance, slipping a hand around Phil’s neck and tugging him in for a slow, easy kiss. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” he murmured as he pulled back the tiniest fraction. Phil’s eyes were blown wide, a hitch in his breath. “And let me take you apart and put you back together again.” 

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “I want that.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tough chapter to write; exposition can be choppy and hard to tie together in a way that makes sense. Plus, when you've got the whole backstory in your head, it's difficult to edit and cut down to what the reader needs to know. 
> 
> The story of the witch and the knight and the scholar sounds pretty damn familiar ... *winks*
> 
> The description of the veil is my own invention. I'm really playing with multiplicity in Phil's religion.
> 
> Who better to be the sneaky book thief than Grant Ward???
> 
> Interestingly, Eric, Charles, and Jean worked really well as the town, gown, and church. 
> 
> Eagle-eyed readers might recognize the punchline of the story Maria is telling about Victoria and Justin Hammer from a terrible but cheesily good 80s fantasy flick with a triple-bladed sword. The guy who dated my roommate in college LOVED the movie, so some of the lines are burned in my memory. 
> 
> Some good lovin' to start the next chapter ... then the battle for the portal begins! Going to be heroics, villainy, sacrifice, and a few final revelations.


	18. Chapter #17:  Kisses in the Moonlight and A First Strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Phil have their moment ... but that's all it is as the first gambit of the endgame begins.

_“For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”_

  
  


Clint leaned into the kiss, tilting his head and covering Phil’s mouth with his lips, nipping the edges and the soft skin; he wanted to learn the lay of the land, feel Phil’s reaction when he swiped the tip of his tongue along the seam. Pulling back, breaking the long kiss into shorter, sweeter ones, he paused to look in Phil’s eyes, see the desire mirrored there, before swooping in for another deeper, stronger, longer. 

The space between their bodies grew heated, their breathing falling into a rhythm; for all the rush of the last few days, being pushed forward and tugged all directions, he was here, now, with Phil with all the time they needed. The earlier unease evaporated in the languid warmth they were building; mouths opened, tongues explored, fingers stroked skin and hair and clothes. He filed away each touch, the intimacies of Phil’s body. The slight difference in height, the way Phil’s chin rose and Clint’s tilted to the left. The faint scar that bisected his upper lip and the sensitive spot behind his ear. The coolness of palm cupped around Phil’s neck and the flex of Phil’s fingers against hip.

“I’m asleep” Phil murmured into the curve of his neck. “And this is a dream.”

“Or this is real.” Clint dropped a kiss on the corner of Phil’s jaw. “And the rest is illusion.” 

A little pressure on Phil’s back and Clint brought them closer, deepening his kiss and slotting their bodies together. Catching Phil’s hand, he brought it up and under the loose hem of his shirt until fingertips grazed bare skin. Five points of heat began to trace his muscles, feathery-light brushes; when they crossed a series of mottled bruises, Clint flinched the tiniest bit. 

“I’m hurting you.” Phil leaned back and lifted the material; he gasped when he saw the purple and black spread across his waist and stomach. “Gods and goddesses, that’s …” 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He caught the hem and drew the shirt over his head. “Feels like it’s a week old instead of a day. She healed all the internal damage.” 

“Internal.” Phil’s eyes gave everything away, the concern and worry and sense of blame. “Because you were trying to protect me. Clint, I …” 

Clint stopped the apology with a hard kiss. “We’re alive and we’re here and that’s all that matters. I know about getting caught up in could and would. We take what we have and make the most of it.” 

“Yes.” Phil laid a hand over Clint’s heart. “And I want you.” 

There was nothing for it but to give Phil everything. With slow deliberate movements, Clint unbuckled Phil’s vest and slipped it from his shoulders. His shirt was next on the agenda, but Phil kept sidetracking him with nippy kisses. When Clint finally had access to the expanse of Phil’s chest, he ran his hand over the still-healing marks from the wound from the Watcher’s tentacles. 

“A reminder to not go in the woods.” Phil covered Clint’s fingers. “Unless I have you with me.” 

A gentle tug and Phil was in his arms again; three steps and Phil’s back pressed against the wall. Clint trailed his lips down Phi’s neck and along his collarbone, dipping his tongue in the hollow and chasing the line of his sternum with the edge of his teeth. The pebble of Phil’s nipples puckered in anticipation as Clint’s warm breath blew across it; Phil gasped as Clint flicked the tip of his tongue over first one and then the other. Clint teased until they were hard and aching before he sank to his knees then continued on to the triple spirals of Phil’s tattoo, tracing the circles and sucking gently on the center where they joined.

“Oh.” Phil’s head fell back and he closed his eyes. 

Unlacing Phil’s pants, Clint glanced up. Moonlight poured through the window, illuminating the line of Phil’s nose and curve of his cheeks. He looked like one of those statues in a temple, face turned towards the heavens, and Clint was the supplicant at his feet. 

Easing the leather flaps apart, Clint freed Phil’s hard cock into the palm of his hand; he curled his fingers and brushed his thumb across the tip. Phil gasped and the sound sent a jolt of pleasure through Clint. With a tentative graze, he tasted; Phil jerked and squeezed his hands into fists, pressing them against the wall. That wouldn’t do; Clint caught and drew them towards him, prying fingers loose and sliding them into his hair. Then he licked the velvety head again, more deliberately, and was rewarded by Phil tightening his grip and guiding Clint forward, inviting him to sample and enjoy. 

When Clint closed his eyes, he felt the weight of worry lift from his shoulders and, instead, was buoyed up by the care and love of the animals around him. Some of their tension bled off and they relaxed as Clint took Phil in his mouth. Clint sensed the wind in feathers, the warmth of a curled up body, the contentment of being safe. As he slid down and back up, he settled into the place where he fit, where he was Clint and Phil was Phil, and they were all one. He rode the current, let Phil set the pace, and enjoyed the moment. 

“Clint,” Phil said, words tumbling out with a low moan. “I’m going to …” 

“Yeah, you are.” 

Clint sucked harder as Phil jerked and strained forward, urging him to his climax then swallowing as much of him as he could. Sitting back on his heels, Clint swiped his thumb to catch drops on the corner of his mouth and licked it clean. 

“Holy hells. That felt good.” Phil slid down until he was facing Clint. “Come here.” 

Tugging Clint by the nape of his neck, Phil kissed him, pushing his lips open and swiping his tongue inside. The invasion made Clint’s cock throb and he went more than willingly when Phil drew him up and hustled him back. With a push, Clint fell onto the bed, ropes squeaking as Phil balanced on a knee; a wiggle and Clint’s pants were peeled off. Bracing himself on one elbow, Phil’s gaze grew even more heated and Clint shivered. At the first touch of Phil’s hand, Clint arched his hips up. 

“That’s it,” Phil said, kissing the sensitive skin behind Clint’s ear. “Let me.” 

Between Phil’s mouth and his facile fingers, Clint didn’t last long. Bracing a foot on the bed, he thrust into Phil’s loose hold, already leaking and slick. As Phil murmured encouragements, Clint stuttered, muscles tensing, then tumbled over the edge into his release. For a measure of heartbeats, Clint simply lay, boneless, and let his eyes roam over the planes of Phil’s face. 

“Stay.” Clint stroked a finger along Phil’s cheek. “Sleep with me.” 

“I should go home.” Phil didn’t move. “If they need me, that’s where they’ll look.” 

“Melinda knows; she’ll send someone to both places.” Of that, Clint was sure. She’d given him another speculative look when she’d dropped in for a drink. 

“She will,” Phil agreed. “She’s been smirking every time I say your name.” 

“Then it’s settled. We clean up and get some rest.” Clint didn’t budge. 

“Yes.” Phil glanced at the water pitcher. “And as much as I’d like you to stay like this …” he ran his eyes over Clint’s naked body, “... it’s probably best to be prepared for a knock on the door.” 

“Un-huh.” Clint kept tracing the line of Phil’s jaw. “Nat might check in too, make sure I’m okay. I left them getting drunk.” 

“Come on.” Phil hauled himself up and offered a hand. “Won’t take long.” 

It didn’t; they made short work of it, using the sliver of soap and then emptying the dirty water out the window into the gutter below. Pants went back on in Clint’s case, Phil tucking himself away but leaving his laces untied. Clint flopped down on his back when he was done, reaching an arm to Phil, inviting him to sprawl across him. That meant Clint could wrap his arms around Phil and trace figure eights in the curve of his back. 

“... do that move where you flip your sword over the back of your arm?” Maria’s voice faded in as footsteps came down the hall. 

“It’s all in the fingerwork,” Steve replied as they passed Clint’s room. “I could show you …” 

“Fingerwork?” Clint waited until he heard a door open and shut. “Think Maria fell for that line?” 

“Complimenting fighting style is Maria’s go-to flirting strategy,” Phil said, eyelids sliding closed.“Steve’s just her type.” 

“First Tony and Bucky, now Steve and Maria.” Clint chuckled. “Nat will take her time with Bruce.” 

“Tony and Bucky?” Phil cracked one eye open. “Did they …”

“In the bathing room next to mine; Tony’s very vocal.” Clint shifted to get more comfortable and tucked a hand in the back of Phil’s waistband. 

“I should take you to the pools.” Phil was relaxing, his breathing evening out. “Heated and with private rooms. Best perk of the Archives.” 

“I’d like that.” Clint had just about gotten settled with Podo jumped on the bed frame and ran up his leg; Kodo hesitated, waiting to see if her brother was welcome. Clint wiggled his toes in invitation and the two ended up curled on the pillow by his head. “If they bother you …” 

“It’s nice.” Phil lifted a hand and scratched the closest furry belly. “Though I don’t know if there’s room for everyone.” 

“Lucky and Vision are already snoozing,” Clint told him. “You should be too.” 

“A couple of hours,” Phil mumbled. “Just need ...” 

Clint hummed in response, watching as Phil slipped into sleep, tension seeping away. For a moment, all was calm and Clint closed his own eyes. 

* * *

“...ter Clint.” 

He’s eyelids flipped open, and he came awake with a sudden start, the echo of his name hanging in the air. It was that time when morning was creeping under the edges of night, a bare hint of the day to come. The sounds of early risers filtered in through the window along with the smell of freshly baking bread. Next to him, Phil was lax, curled on his side, his face only inches from Clint’s. At some point, Clint had rolled on his side too, wound his arms around Phil’s waist, and tangled their legs together. In the valley between their chests, the cat was contentedly sleeping beside the little balls of ferret warmth. 

“Master Clint.” The voice was crisp and clear as if the speaker was in the room. “I am sorry to wake you but there is a problem.” 

“Jarvis?” Clint asked. 

Vision lifted its head as Phil stirred. 

“There are men in the courtyard,” Jarvis replied, as calm as could be.

“What is it?” Phil was awake, watching Clint intently as he sat up. 

“Hostiles.” Clint closed his eyes and slipped into Bernard. From the hawk’s vantage point in the tree, Clint could see the stables, the entry gate, and the door into the guesthouse, the area bathed in the lanterns kept lit for the guard’s comings and goings. “At least six … no, seven I can see in the courtyard. They’re splitting up, taking different routes into the building.” 

Phil was up in a flash and reaching for his boots. “What do they look like,” he asked, keeping his voice low. 

“Dark clothes, black or grey or navy, can’t tell; it’s hard to make out anything …” Clint skipped a shirt and slipped on his leather jerkin. One person turned and moonlight caught his face. “A guard from yesterday. At one of the gates we passed. Melinda called him by name.” 

“Fuck.” The curse was softer than a whisper as Phil pulled his shirt on and reached for his vest. “They’re using the guard.” 

“Get Nat.” Clint scooped up Podo and sent his scurrying over the window sill and along the decorative ledge on the side of the building. Then he picked up Kodo and sent her the opposite direction. “Wake Tony and Bucky.” Lucky was already at the door, sniffing and pawing. “Keep low,” Clint murmured. “Find Steve.” After his sword belt was fastened, he strung his bow and slung the quiver over his back. “They’re coming in through the main floor and the bathhouse entry. I’ll go high.” 

“We’ll press ‘em into the courtyard,” Phil replied. He paused before reaching for the doorknob. “Stay safe.” 

Clint tossed him a wolfish grin. “They’ll never see me coming.” 

As soon as the door was cracked, Lucky was away, the cat following on Phil’s heels. Clint swung out of the window, caught the edge of the gutter, and flipped up on the roof. Climbing to the ridge, he skirted a stone chimney and found a vantage point; from three stories up, he had a clear view of the one stationed at the gate and the open door of the stables, but no sign of those who’d gone inside. 

“Jarvis?” He opened the connection wider and was surprised when a stall came into focus, It usually took time and practice to get this clear of an image. 

“It has been quite a while but I do remember how to share my senses,” Jarvis replied, an edge of humor in his thoughts. “Master Stark does not have the gift of mindsight so I am out of practice.” 

“You’re doing fine,” Clint thought back. “Let’s see what these guys are up to.” 

Horses have a wide range of vision; Clint had a horse-eye view over the partial walls all the way back to the doors. A quick count showed all their steeds accounted for and a figure easing along the hallway, taking up a secure position with a small crossbow at the ready. 

“They appear to be creating an ambush,” Jarvis said. 

“Let me know if they move.” 

“I shall keep you apprised,” Jarvis promised. “Be careful and do keep Master Stark from doing anything too rash.” 

“One day we’re going to have a long conversation,” Clint told the horse that wasn’t a horse. “And I look forward to it.” 

A faint tickle on his hand and Clint glanced down to see a tiny grey spider crawling over his skin. He smiled; Natasha was up and at work. She’d handle Bruce … he might have been in her room, but even if he wasn’t, she would ensure he was safe. With Steve, he’d get Maria and they’d wake Sam and Wong. Tony and Bucky were at the far end of the hall, closer to the other stairs; they’d cover their backs. 

From below, he heard a soft clunk; the guy at the gate dropped his hand to his sword hilt but didn’t move. When everything went quiet again, he stood down, waiting. Clint ran through the compound’s layout; the stable and kitchen on one side, guest rooms and bathing facilities on the other. The far end opposite the gate was guard barracks. If this was his plan, he’d want to achieve his goal quickly and with as little notice as possible, so he’d bring more hands than he needed to get in and get out. But there were only seven of them, not near to kill them all much less take them prisoner. No, that would require a whole squad; there had to be more. Even if they weren’t here for everyone, they should be prepared to fight the whole ...

A louder thump then someone shouted, a garbled cry of pain. 

Clint shot and an arrow protruded from the gate guard before he took a step causing him to slump to the ground. 

A shout, a loud whinny, and a crash came from the stable. 

The door below burst open and two people ran out; one yanked off her hood down and began pulling at her hair and clothing. The other turned and held ground, facing a scantily clad Maria Hill and Steve Rogers. With two short swords and wearing a bra and panties, Maria stalked towards the erstwhile attacker. Steve circled to her left in only a pair of linen drawers. 

“They’re all over me!” the female shouted, jerking off her vest. “Get them off!” 

Another clatter and out of the bathhouse door came two more, clothes singed and smoking. Bucky followed, Tony between him and Sam. Tony was bare assed naked, not a stitch on, onlyKodo riding on his shoulder; Bucky had on a pair of unlaced pants that hung low on his hips, but no boots or shirt. Of them all, Sam was the most fully dressed; he rounded up the half-burnt people and took their weapons. 

“That was pathetic,” Tony told them. “I mean, honestly, four guys …” 

“Five,” Steve said nodding to the one by the gate.

“Five guys? That’s it?” Tony winced, lifted his foot, and brushed a rock off the bottom. “I got out of bed for this?” 

A roar made everyone turn towards the building. 

“Bruce.” Tony headed back in, but Bucky grabbed his arm. 

“Behind me,” Bucky said. “Steve?” 

“We’ve got these,” Steve assured him. 

The roof vibrated as something heavy slammed hard enough to rock the chimney. Of course, they’d go after Bruce; he’d read the damn book, so he knew what was in it. Clint should have seen this coming. Thumps, bangs, and then someone came flying out of a window, hitting the courtyard and tumbling to a halt against the trunk of the tree. A heartbeat later, a second person ran out the door, tripped, and fell into a gibbering heap.

“Please, I’m just here for the money, I swear I don’t know anything!” he begged, staring up at Steve. 

Bruce stormed out, green and big and very angry and clad only in a ripped pair of pants. His clenched fists slammed the ground and everyone jumped. 

“Hey, there big guy,” Tony waved to get Bruce’s attention. “We’ve got this. See? Everyone’s here and Steve’s got his sword and Bucky’s got his hand, so we’re good.” 

Bruce exhaled noisily as he turned his gaze Tony’s way. He stopped, his eyes widened, and then he began to chuckle. 

“What did I miss?” Wong stood in the doorway in a set of matching pajamas, a lantern sending light spilling across them all. 

“Naked Tony,” Bruce said in a low gravelly voice as chuckles turned to laughter. 

“Oh!” Betty averted her eyes as she followed Wong down the steps, tugging her robe closed tighter. “Really, Stark?” 

“Hey, animal boy called and we came.” Tony started to grin but then looked around. “Where is Clint anyway? Roust me out of bed but stays in his own?”

It was an easy jump down to the front wall then a flip and he was on the ground. 

“Watching your ass. Literally.” Clint walked to the stable door and peered in; the one with the crossbow was in a heap, hoof marks on his chest. “Good job, Jarvis.” 

“Thank you,” Jarvis replied.

“Jarvis warned you.” Tony seemed unfazed by his state of undress. “They were going for Bruce because he read the book and me because I’ve done the math. Fuckers underestimated us.”

“I recognize this one from somewhere.” Steve nodded to the man kneeling in front of him.

“City guard. Phil says …” Clint looked around. “Where’s Phil?”

“Off with the Captain of the Guard, chasing down the escaped Archivist,” Sam said.

“No, he was here.” Clint ran in the door, Lucky at his heels, taking the stairs two at a time. On the third floor landing, he almost ran into Natasha. “Phil, he …”

“He’s not here.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “They took him.”

“It was a diversion.” Clint kept going until he was at the doorway to his room; he peered inside as if he might find Phil still sleeping on the small bed. 

Lucky nudged his leg, staring up with worried eyes. Kodo appeared and scampered up Clint to join her brother on his shoulders. Bernard landed in the window, expanding his wings and shaking his feathers. Everything was just as he’d left it, his purple shirt draped over the back of the chair, his bedroll with a depression where the animals had slept …

“Vision.” He dropped down on the edge of the bed. 

“The cat.” Natasha did her own quick survey. “I saw it in the hallway, dodging around Phil’s feet. You think it …” 

“Yeah. I hope.” Clint buried a hand in Lucky’s fur. “Don’t know if I can find it, haven’t really had a chance to bond yet, but maybe, if they didn’t go too far …” 

Bernard squawked and bobbed his head. 

“Right. It’s getting light enough for you. We can extend the range.” He nodded back at the hawk. “Keep low and don’t be seen. They might be expecting me to send you out. Find Phil or Vision, track them to ground. Can you …” 

Without another sound, the hawk launched into the air, flying up and over the rooftops in the slowly pinking sky. Clint stepped into Bernard’s mind, tracking movement in the shadowy streets through his eyes; he overlaid Bernard’s view with his senses, opening up to all the animals that called Triskelia home. The smaller ones he let pass -- mice and snakes and bugs -- and also ignored the larger ones -- horses and cattle and bigger dogs -- looking for a cat’s thoughts. He touched mousers in stables and toms on the prowl and pampered pets sleeping on human beds, but kept going, spiraling further out with Bernard. 

“... ready if we need to …” 

“... care of these until …”

“... in the hells you’re going to stop me …”

Slipping further through the connection, Clint banked on a wingtip and got the layout of the city, tagging the guest house and triangulating with the government building in the center. The spires of the archive formed the third point as he swooped past a wagon loaded with jugs of milk and a man with two big baskets of fruit bound for market stalls. 

He felt Natasha’s hand when she laid it on his knee, tendrils of her web spinning around him. The little flares he saw were her sisters becoming aware of the search, joining in. Under eaves and spanning corners, in closed doorways and across empty stairways they scuttled, sensing vibrations of people passing and relaying information. A guard patrol passed an alley, walking beneath an unseen web. A healer, tired feet barely lifting off the cobblestones, arrived home, opening the entrance and disturbing a recently spun gossamer thread. 

Bernard had just skimmed over the inner wall when familiarity brushed against Clint’s questing senses. A flash of ginger in the warm light of a street lamp, turning a corner with a twitching tail. Landing on the roofline, Bernard stared down into the small alleyway that twisted between the wall and the closest building; four figures carried something slumped and heavy. 

“Gotcha,” Clint murmured as he jumped from Bernard into Vision, shaking off the disorientation of height and the cat’s one-eyed view. “Good job, Viz. You’re doing well; keep following.” 

It was harder to keep track of where they were without the bird’s eye view, but Natasha kept pace with them, moving from one web to the next. Clint shut out her voice as she narrated turns, tunneling in on Phil's boots being dragged across the stones and staying as close as he dared, using the garbage bins and rain barrels as cover. 

“... Charles so he can …”

“...who all is involved …”

“...after Phil instead of …”

They came to a door; sharp ears caught a pattern of knuckle raps then light spilled out and the figures filed in, crowding the entrance with their feet and leaving no room for Vision to dart in before the door shut again. 

“Damn it,” Clint cursed. 

A burst of … amusement? … in response; Vision sank onto his haunches then leaped up to the sill of a second-story window, squeezing through the crack left open to catch the night breeze. He landed on a desk, daintily picked his way through the stacks of paper, and jumped down on the floor. 

“Smartass. I’d have thought of that,” Clint said. 

The cat huffed then stuck its head out of the room; the stairs were at the far end and no one was in sight. Echoes of footsteps came from below; silently, the cat made it down in time to see Phil carried through a metal door. Cold air raised the hair on Vision’s back; a smell of earth and mildew carried to his nose. 

“They’re going underground,” Clint told Natasha. 

“Got a bead on the location,” she answered. “They haven’t swept in forever; lots of friends with eyes everywhere. Time to gear up.” 

Took longer than Clint would have liked to come back into his body but he’d been far afield. By the time he blinked and focused on the room again, Natasha was fully armed and holding his bow for him. 

“You want to put on a shirt?” she asked as he stood. 

“We need to move fast before too many more people are on the street.” He slung the twins’ pouch across his chest and held it open for them to climb in; with one last look at the bed he’d shared with Phil, Clint closed the door behind him.

“Most of the failed attackers were hired yesterday,” Natasha filled him in as they jogged down the stairs. “I’d just figured that out when I heard Phil’s shout; it was a feint to draw us away.” 

“Probably trusted the person who hired them; got to be someone in a uniform they’d respect.” Clint exited into the courtyard and drew up short when he saw who was waiting there. 

“I’m coming with you.” Bruce was back to his usual size, dressed and ready to go. 

“No,” Clint shook his head. “You’re not a fighter, Bruce, and this is going to be up-close and personal.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I can bust down doors and clear a hallway.” The scholar got a stubborn tilt to his chin. “So I’m coming.” 

“Might need a mage.” Tony was kitted up, his belt hung with pouches, and a knife sheathed on his hip. “And, knowing you two, you’ll probably run into some supernatural forces, so I’ve got my shield bracelet ready to go.”

“Tony …” Clint started to protest, but Steve cut him off. 

“It’s time, Clint, and you know it. This is the endgame; we follow Phil down the rabbit hole and see this to the finish,” Steve said. “This is why we’re here.”

Sam and Bucky nodded in agreement. 

“They’re right,” Natasha said. “Phil’s your lover, but he’s our friend too; he’s the center of this web and we’re all connected. We do this together.” 

“Fine.” Clint didn’t want to waste the time arguing. “We save Phil and kick the ass of whoever has him. That’s priority one. The rest can wait.” 

“Pretty sure it’s all the same thing,” Bucky said. “But, yeah, Phil first.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, this chapter was a bitch and a half to write. My muse decided to be extra picky and RL went to plaid levels of stressful and I could not get the plot or characters to cooperate at all. Finally had a breakthrough last night -- I literally woke up with the solution of how to get to where I need the next two chapters to go, so praise the Lord and sing hallelujah. Take this poor red-headed stepchild of a chapter and do with as you will!
> 
> Yeah, I know the animals are all in the room while they're having sex but Phil understands what Clint is and what that means, so he's cool with it. 
> 
> I had to get naked Tony in here. 
> 
> Steve and Maria snuck up on me. Didn't plan it but here we are. Steve is a bit of a womanizer in this fic which, may I just say, a confident sexual Steve is yummy. 
> 
> Jarvis is ... yeah, he's mined from another of my favorite fantasy book series. Sort of. If you squint. 
> 
> Man, when Natasha and Clint get going, they kick ass. ;)


	19. Chapter #18:  Bad Guys and Bad Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and the gang set out to rescue Phil. There's some badassery, some close-in fighting, and some monologuing by the villain. Clint, of course, does something heroically stupid ... and the Veil takes a side.

_ We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell. _

  
  


Clint rapped his knuckles on the door in the pattern he’d heard them used earlier. As soon as the knob turned, he threw his weight against it and slammed it hard, knocking the person back into the hall. Before the man could recover, Clint had him pinned to the wall, forearm pressing on his windpipe. Lucky growled, bared teeth not far from the man’s crotch. 

“Tell me about Phil,” Clint demanded, “why they took him.” 

The man didn’t flinch, looking Clint up and down with ill-disguised disdain. “The Dreagst. Barely above an animal yourself. The Kingdom will be a better place without the likes of you.” 

“Let’s skip to the part where he starts talking,” Natasha said. “I don’t give a shit about his bigoted babble.” 

She reached her fingers towards his cheek and the man’s eyes widened; on the back of her hand was a large black furry spider, legs already moving as it crawled his way. 

“That’s a … no, don’t, I don’t like …” He tried to get away from the poisonous creature, but Clint held him still, bearing down with all his weight. 

“Why Phil,” he repeated. 

“I can’t … I … he won’t like it if I …” The first brush of the hairy appendage and the smell of urine floated up. “The Leader needs him to hold the way open; Coulson’s one of them, a descendant of the fighter and the priestess. He can channel the energy into the spell.” 

“See?” Clint eased up. “That wasn’t that hard, was it?” 

“Get it away from me!” he begged. “I hate those things.” 

“Tony?” 

Clint stepped aside so Stark could cast a sleep spell; the man slid to the floor and Natasha returned the spider to where it had been riding on her shoulder. 

“She knows that’s a grey recluse, right?” Tony asked him. 

Clint shrugged. “It won’t hurt  _ us _ .” 

“You guys are scary,” Tony said. 

“They’ll have Phil wherever the veil is the closest to this world,” Steve pointed out. “It’s underground, somewhere to the northeast, not very far. You can get us there?” 

“We’ve got a guide,” Clint promised. 

He wrenched the next door open, taking the stairs downward and into a cellar. A hallway took off at an angle, rough-hewn walls clearly dug recently. Rising from where it had been curled up on the floor, Vision stretched and gave a sharp meow; it headed down the tunnel, turned, then meowed again. 

“All right, Bucky, you’re with me; get that hand ready. Steve and Maria, you’re the rearguard; Sam’s in the middle with Tony and Bruce. If we run into any trouble, let Tony and me get some shots off before you close.” Clint had his short bow and an arrow at the ready; not as much distance or power, but better in close quarters. 

“Um, if I get angry …” Bruce started to say. 

“You’ve got this,” Natasha told him, “and, don’t worry, we’ll get out of the way.” 

“Shouldn’t we have someone on the back door?” Maria asked. She’d elected to come along; Wong had stayed behind, waiting for their message to reach Melinda and to deal with the mess they’d left in the courtyard. 

“Bernard’s got eyes on it.” Clint clicked his teeth; Kodo and Podo jumped down and scampered down the tunnel. “And the twins are our points.” 

The floor was uneven; they hadn’t bothered to smooth it out. Dust from construction was disturbed by passing footprints; dim mage lights hung on the wall. They made their way quietly and quickly, and it wasn’t far until they came to a place where a hole had been chipped in the wall and covered with some sort of partition. Kodo nosed around the edge and pushed through, her brother on her heels; they were barely out of sight before Clint sensed their anxiety at what they found. 

“Bodies.” Clint could see them sprawled on the floor. “Two, maybe three … Podo, no, you can’t empty their pockets … with grey and navy blue uniforms.” 

“They killed the guards,” Bucky said. “Came out and took them by surprise.”

“It’s clear.” Clint pushed aside the thin piece of wood; the space on the other side had smooth paved flagstone floors, paneled walls with magical sconces, and an intricate beamed ceiling. The covering had been painted to match the wall on the inside. 

“It’s recent.” Natasha stepped around a large pool of arterial blood that was still liquid in the middle. “They’re not that far ahead of us.” 

Bruce’s face turned ashen as he looked at the dead, jagged slices across their throats. “Which way did they go?” 

Clint pointed the same direction that Steve did; Steve shrugged at Natasha’s unspoken question. “The energy of the veil’s stronger that way,” he offered.

“And it’s ramping up,” Bucky said, stalking forward. “Explanations later; fight now.”

The hallway led to another; Vision turned left then right at the second corner, the twins darting ahead. Two more dead bodies, guards who’d been on watch, and they came to a round antechamber with double doors opposite their entrance. Paintings hung on the walls, men and women in clothing that spanned the years. Clint paused before one with a beautiful red-haired woman, her arms outstretched and magic flowing around her fingers. Her blue eyes hid a hint of fear inside pure determination. 

“You think that’s her? Wanda?” Bruce stood behind him. “She’s so young.”

“Yeah, she was.” Clint turned, Podo tugging on his pants leg. The ferret chittered and then ran across the floor, stretching up towards a small square near the ceiling. He scooped the animal and held him up. “Okay, but do not go into the room. Stop and let me see what’s what first.” 

He disappeared into the dark, tail twitching; in a few seconds, Clint could see on the other side. 

“Four more bodies in a corridor. There’s another set of doors at the end,” Clint told the others. “Ornate, carved, heavy, some really dark wood.” 

“Probably kingwood,” Bruce said. “Used for boxes to hold magical energies.”

“Let’s find out.” Clint moved, but Bucky put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. 

“I go first,” he said, working the glove off of his metal hand; spreading the fingers across the surface, he closed his eyes and Clint saw a shimmer expand, running to the edges and underneath. “No traps on this one, but there’s definitely something in the next room. Sam?” 

“Yeah, I’m on it.” He stepped up next to Bucky; thin lines ran along his arms, extending outward, creating winglike shields. “Everyone get behind me.” 

Once they were in the lee of Sam’s protection, Bucky swung the doors open. 

Energy washed over Clint, a raw power that caught at his senses and bled along his body. It passed through him, spindled out in faint purple lines, jumping to Lucky and Kodo and Vision and Podo. A strong braid connected him to Natasha; she was trailing red threads that formed and reformed, enclosing them all within her web. 

“Is it just me or are handsome and handsome and even more handsome glowing?” Tony asked him in a fake whisper. “And Nat and … Bruce?” 

Green streaked Bruce’s skin, emitting a luminescence that seemed to pulse. 

“Tony, look.” Bruce nodded back at the mage. 

A bright white burned in the middle of Tony’s chest, tendrils running down his arms and legs. Tony raised his hands; more brightness pooled in the center of his palms. 

“The Veil is very, very strong here.” Steve was illuminated from within, his whole body suffused with light. “You cannot hide what you are from it; we are all laid bare inside its power.” 

“I feel like I walked into the middle of the last act of play.” Maria shifted her grip on her sword. Of all of them, she was the same as she’d been before, only a faint tinge along her sword blade. “And, to be honest, I don’t give a shit about magic and veils and whatever abilities you all have. We’re here to get Phil and to stop Gidra from killing a bunch of people. So let’s get on with it.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve grinned her way. “Pretty sure we just have to follow the trail to Phil.” 

“Trail?” Clint asked. Steve nodded downward and Clint saw a purple line stretching from his chest down the hallway and through the doors ahead. “Ah.” 

Tony slapped him on the back; Clint felt a little sting. “I’ll dance at your wedding, assuming we survive this.” 

“You’ll pay for it,” Clint muttered as they started forward. “Best wine and spicy chicken pies money can buy.” 

“This one’s not a guard.” Natasha nudged one of the bodies with her foot. “No badges or anything to identify him.”

“They took down one before they died.” Maria stepped around the fresh blood. 

The closer they came to the wooden doors, the harder the press of magic on Clint’s senses. The animals were feeling it too, Lucky close on his heels and the ferrets subdued, jumping back in their pouch. Only Vision seemed unaffected; it got there first and paced back and forth, anxious to get through the barrier. 

“Wards are mostly broken,” Tony said as they drew near. “Whoever went through it didn’t give a damn about re-engaging them, but there are a few that must automatically reset. I might be able to unravel them …” 

Bucky slapped his hand on the carved surface; there was a flash and then the jewels of his knuckles glowed. The smell of ozone tinkled Clint’s nostrils as smoke wafted up from the metal fingers. 

“Damn, that’s sexy as hell.” Tony tossed a smirk Bucky’s way. 

Bucky waggled his eyebrows in response. “Does come in handy now and again.” 

Sam groaned at the pun before he asked. “Any chance of a preview of what’s inside?” 

Clint surveyed the wall then shook his head. “Nothing big enough for these guys to squeeze through.” 

“We’ve got it.” Natasha reached out and three spiders slid off her hand onto the wall, running in opposite directions. One found a crack near the floor, another slipped through a hinge, and the third disappeared into a dark corner in the ceiling. “Clint, can you …”

It took two breaths and then he was seeing in fractals through multi-faceted eyes. Black masses against an impossibly bright background -- bodies -- maybe -- people -- he quit trying to force it and let the images join with the spider’s instincts. 

“Through the door, to the left. The magic is so strong.” He exhaled. “A cluster just inside then more further in and … a few by themselves, in the center, close to the light …” 

“Okay, the fighters go in first,” Steve said. “Buck and Sam take out the cluster just inside; Maria and I will handle the one further in. Natasha, Clint -- your goal is Phil. Tony, Bruce, you’re the scholars here, figure out what they’re up to and how to keep them from accessing the energy.” 

“No.” Bruce pushed past Steve until he was standing in front of the door. “I go first, clear as many out of the way as I can. You take care of the rest.” He ducked his head and changed, a fluid shift from man to wilde, then he grinned at Natasha. “If I don’t control it, it will control me, right?” 

She brushed her fingers along his arm. “Absolutely, Big Guy. Go get ‘em.” 

They stepped back, using Sam’s wings as a shield again. 

Bruce slammed both hands against the wood, breaking the doors and shattering them to splinters. He roared as he charged through, heedless of the wall of magic that surged out. Bucky was next; the aura around him practically exploded, his hand a glowing beacon. Sam was swinging his sword, leaving bright trails, his feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Steve … Steve burned, surrounded by a brilliant blaze. 

“Goddesses and garters, they’re …” Tony shook his head to clear it then looked at Clint. “Well, what are we waiting for? There’s a Coulson to save!” 

The three of them rushed in together, Tony in the middle, Clint and Natasha on either side. Clint started firing arrows immediately, targeting any of the black-clad fighters who blocked their way. Tony threw not fire, but glittering blasts of light. Natasha’s knives whipped towards their targets, slashing like talons. 

The bulk of the forces were too busy dealing with an angry Orcneas, three Stewards, and one highly trained Shield mercenary. If Clint had a moment to think about it, he’d have seen the pattern, how they were prepared for a straight-up fight, not for what they got. Bruce’s fists cleared a swath, Steve danced into it, Maria and Sam at his side, and wails followed Bucky as his hand touched one and then the next.

But Clint ignored the boiling battle and searched for Phil instead. 

The door had opened onto a smoothly packed dirt floor that extended maybe ten feet. Above, the ceiling was held up by buttresses with central keystones that distributed the weight; pillars were sunk into the floor below, a network of them scattered throughout the space, keeping it all aloft. A ramp led down from where Clint was standing, more tamped down earth; fighters were swarming up it, trying to join the melee. 

In the center of the lower level was a simple stone archway with no door and no walls. It rose up and curved back down, empty space inside and all around. Wide enough for two people, it currently held only one; Phil was on his knees, hands tied behind his back, head down. Four people surrounded the arch, one at each compass point, their hands moving in intricate patterns. 

“Lucky, go!” Clint sent the dog running ahead, zipping around bodies and through legs. Then he unslung his pouch and dropped it on the rocky side of the platform. “Seek,” he told the twins. Vision waved its tail and leaped from rock to rock, making its way down. “Nat?” 

“Got ‘em.” She was concentrating, her brow furrowed. “The sisters are here.” 

“Let’s go.” 

Clint didn’t wait to hear Stark’s answer, taking the ramp at a run. Anyone in his way got a bow smacked across their head or a knife in the side. They got close before Clint felt the wall of a magical shield, near enough to see a dribble of blood from the corner of Phil’s mouth, but too far to make an attempt to free him. 

“Don’t bother trying to break the spell,” one of the men said. “It’s beyond you, Tony.” 

“Obie. Signing on with the Gidran cause? Doesn’t surprise me.” Tony’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Ah, now, you had your chance.” Obediah Stane, Tony’s mentor and betrayer, was bald and greying, his mouth a mean line. “I told you there was power, more than you could imagine; you walked away.” 

“You tried to have me killed.” Tony spread his palms on the shield; light began to build. “I take that pretty personally.” 

Wandering to the left, Clint tested the limits of the spell; it was centered on the archway and spread out in a circle, enclosing the four men. Lucky paced at his feet; through the dog’s eyes, Clint could see the tell-tale shimmer of the energy. It paled in comparison to the brightness that swirled around Phil, a concentrated curtain for what had to be the doorway into the Nevernever. 

“The Duke of Whitehall.” Natasha had gone the other direction; she was on the opposite side from Clint. “Selling out the people of Malleton? What did you get in return? Money? Power?” 

“A world free of the likes of you,” the grey-haired man spat at her. “Wildes are abominations that dilute the generations with false ideals and impure genetics; you need to be wiped from the lands.” 

“Oh, a true believer.” Natasha’s smile was sharp. “Stane’s here for the money, you’re here because you’re an asshole. Got it.” 

Tony released a blast of magic; the shield shuddered but didn’t break. 

“Always did lack the discipline to be truly powerful,” Stane told him. “Give up, Tony. You’re beaten.” 

“Yeah, well I know something you don’t know.” Tony turned and shouted. “Buck! Bring those magic fingers here, babe.” 

A roar came from the platform then Bruce launched himself into the air, bypassing the ramp and landing on the floor with a bone-rattled thud that sent another shiver through the shield. He was even bigger, muscles straining as he stalked closer, rounding Tony and heading towards Clint. 

“Ross,” Bruce growled, a bass tone that made Clint’s back teeth vibrate. 

The third man was slimmer than the other two, his hair cut close to his head, lines at the corner of his mouth from a perpetual sneer. Now that Clint got a good look at him, he recognized Count Thaddeus Ross, Betty’s father.

“I knew you were one of them,” Ross said. “Look at you, the so-called smartest scholar of the age, nothing but a mindless monster. I warned Betty; you deserve to be wiped out before you hurt gods-fearing people.” 

“Seems to me, you’re the one putting Betty in danger.” Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Vision stop near the fourth man, its gaze focused on his movements. “You’re a military man; you should know all about untested spells on the battlefield and tapping into too much energy. This little exercise could destroy the city and her along with it.” 

Ross’s attention snapped to Clint. “Betty’s in Malleton,” he insisted. “HIding with that criminal Fiske. Soon as this is done, I’m going to take her home and make sure she never leaves again.” 

“She’s here,” Clint contradicted. “The Triskelians are very impressed with her flame-retardant potion. She met with the Nachs yesterday, in fact.” 

“No.” Ross’s cheeks grew ruddy as his eyes clouded with anger. “You’re lying; there’s no way she could get in …” 

“Actually, Mr. Barton is correct.” The fourth man spoke up; of them all, he looked the least imposing, frailer with weathered skin. “There is a wilde who can port without crossing the veil; he’s the one who brought them here as well.”

“Why didn’t I know this?” Ross demanded. “I won’t put her at risk …” 

“Bullshit.” Bruce punched the shield; tiny fractures appeared then knit back together. “You sent people after her.” 

“I did no such thing!” Ross shouted back. “You’re the one who dragged her into this!” 

“I must say the Shīshīn League failed to live up to expectations.” Alexander Pierce … for that’s who the last man had to be … waved a hand and the shield grew brighter. “World-class assassins indeed; they couldn’t take out a handful of misfits and simple wildes.”

“Assassins? You didn’t say anything about …” Ross dropped his hands. “I knew you were playing the others, but we had a deal and my daughter was off-limits.” 

“I lied.” Pierce shrugged. “I do that. Truth is, I only needed your money and your troops; now that I’ve tapped the power of the veil, you’re all useless.”

“Of course.” Whitehall nodded, his face a mask of acceptance. “A sacrifice for the spell. It’s a necessary component, life essence in exchange for the energy to spread the illness.” 

“You really believe all that shit? I knew you were crazy, Daniel, but I didn’t think you were this far gone. You go ahead and toss yourself into the fire; I’ve been expecting this.” Stane pulled an amulet from under his shirt; it sparked dull silver as he held it aloft. “I’ll have my share of the power one way or another.”

“Obie, don’t.” Tony tried to warn him. “You can’t do it; that’s not enough …” 

“I’ve done the math, Tony. When this is over, I’ll be the only one left standing …” 

He began to chant, the amulet swinging in the air then there was a thrum and flash; glittering like water in the sunlight, energy filled the archway, surrounding Phil. The force of it rippled outward and Phil’s eyes flew open; he gasped and arched his back as the energy covered his body. Like a wave it washed out, hit the shield spell, and rebounded, coalescing around the four figures inside until they were consumed by miniature maelstroms of magic. Someone screamed then another. It wasn’t Phil; Clint could still see him, at the center of it, glowing with a bright silver light. 

“Gods and garters,” Tony breathed. “Obie, you asshole.” 

“The veil doesn’t take kindly to those who would use it for personal gain.” Steve came to a stop by Clint. 

“Phil.” Clint stepped closer. “We have to get him out of there.” 

“We can’t,” Sam said. “Not yet. This isn’t finished.” 

As quickly as it began, the firestorm dissipated; dust floated down and settled on the ground. Phil was still trapped in the arch, but of the four, only Alexander Pierce remained. With a flick of his wrist, Pierce lowered the shield. 

“The depths of human depravity are endless are they not?” he asked no one in particular. “So willing to sell their very souls for transitory material things.” 

Clint’s arrow was aimed at Pierce’s chest, notched and ready to fly. “Let Phil go.” 

“The Stewards are right; it’s impossible now. Once the veil has been breached, the only way out is to complete the transfer.” 

There was something off about PIerce, the way he tilted his head and held unnaturally still; Lucky sensed it too, his fur standing on end as he growled low in his throat. 

“What does that mean?” Clint demanded. “Tell me or I’ll put this arrow in your eye socket.” 

“It would be a waste of a fine bit of craftsmanship if you did.” PIerced turned and his face melted away, skin sloughing off to reveal a gaunt skeleton beneath, bones covered in bloody veins and rotten muscle. 

“Lich.” Natasha’s hands were wreathed in red threads, gathering her magic to her. 

“Ah, yes, the witch; now I have a complete set, the scholar, the witch, and the fighter. Not siblings this time, but still as close. Come to rescue your scholar; you always do, ready to hurl yourself into the abyss for each other. All you need is a villain to battle and hopeless odds to confront.” 

He changed back but now Clint could see the fraying at the edges, the way his glamour didn’t quite fit. What Clint knew about liches -- men who’d extended their lives by dark magic -- came from scary stories and a few epic ballads … which, was to say, next to nothing.

“It’s very easy, you know … a nudge here, a whisper there … and people fall so quickly into hatred and selfishness. Finding someone isn’t difficult at all; there’s usually plenty who want so much they don’t care about the consequences. Stane wanted to believe he was the best, wanted to be a powerful mage, driven by jealousy. Ross, so angry and ready to condemn those who didn’t agree with him; he tipped with barely a push. And Whitehall -- oh, the ones who want to believe they’re right, special, blessed of the gods -- tell them what they want to hear and they’ll follow you to their deaths and thank you for it.” Pierce grinned as if he found himself funny. “It never changes. Baron Mordo was like Stane, hoarding magic and chasing power. Arnim Zola, wanting to belong, to be important. Even Thanos, likening himself to be divine, mad with desire to dominate.” 

“It was you. Behind them all.” Steve said. “You’ve been using the energy of the veil to keep yourself alive this whole time.” 

“Wait …” Tony interjected. “Mordo was over a century ago; Zola? You’re telling me this guy is ancient?” 

“I have watched kingdoms rise and fall, seen dynasties fade,” Pierce said. “I was old when these two stewards rode into the pass and more powerful than any man alive when the young one followed their trail. I’ve forgotten more of magic than the Grand Council of Mages and have traveled so many worlds of the Nevernever.”

“They always like to brag.” Maria rolled her eyes. ”It’s a male thing. The women usually go for the kill instead of talking you to death.”

“The blight, the shadows, the stirring up of the animals -- you can’t draw from the veil in the pass anymore, can you? The membrane’s too thin from all the battles.” Clint was done with Pierce’s brand of insanity; every moment they spent talking, Phil was in danger. “So you take over a kingdom, poison the people’s minds, send your army to destroy cities, lay siege to a holy site, all to gain access to a permanent doorway. That makes a twisted sort of sense. But two things I don’t get: why the big plot with the disease and the drug and why Phil? There’s a lot of people in the city with strong lineages.”

“Interesting and very insightful; you are more than the killer your animal nature would imply.” Pierce looked him up and down. “The disease? It’s a means to an end; I always need a hook to reel people in. Just so happens that Wilde abilities are growing quickly and fear of the unknown is easy to manipulate. Make them scared and they fall right in line. Plus, I do so enjoy causing chaos and that much death and destruction will amuse me for years.” 

“Can I smash him?” Bruce asked. “I don’t like him.”

“Not yet,” Natasha said. She then prompted Pierce. “And Phil?”

“Lineage, yes. It is important but you never know who the veil will choose; a shepherd or a tinker or a king or a mother -- it speaks to who it wants without rhyme or reason. If I understood how it decides, things would be much easier; I’d just take them and make them do my bidding.” Pierce sighed. “But the veil is stubborn and has decided that Coulson is the key this time around, talking to him and telling him its secrets. Because of that connection, he can withstand the energy much longer before it consumes him.” 

“You’re using him to siphon off the magic so it doesn’t take you.” Tony glared at Pierce.”You fucker.”

_ Save them. The door is open. The time is now. _

The voice came from right next to Clint, solid and real. Afraid to take his eyes off of Pierce, Clint used Kodo’s view from her spot behind a pillar to see inside the archway. A distortion formed around Phil, the shape of a human, standing over him, protecting him from the rain of energy. Phil looked up then turned his head and caught Clint’s eyes, giving him the barest nod. 

“I am already growing stronger,” Pierce said, stretching out his arms; a sickly grey smoke circled his body. “There is nothing you can …” 

Tony let loose a blast of magic; it hit PIerce directly in the chest and bounced off without causing any damage. He laughed. 

“As I was saying, there’s nothing …” 

Bruce hauled off and punched him; the fist didn’t touch Pierce but did drive him back a step. 

“I will be glad to be rid of all of you.” Pierce’s face shifted and his words grew hard. 

He muttered a few harsh sounds and portals opened, a fetid smell pouring out from the darkness within. The first tentacle came through, then another, then more, then misshapen heads. The creatures floated above the ground, black beady eyes searching, a dozen long tendrils on each, feeling everything within reach. 

“Dire wraiths.” Bucky raised his sword. “Not these guys again.”

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, turning to face the other direction. “More will come through unless we can close those portals.” 

“I threw my best spell at him and he didn’t blink.” Tony joined the circle, Steve and Maria facing the other direction. “We have to break his concentration then I can put a dampener in place to stop him from doing it again.” 

Bruce ran straight at one of the nightmares; it whipped its tentacles around him and he screamed as blue static danced over his body. With a heave and a roar, he threw it off him; it righted itself and kept coming. 

“Never fought one of these before,” Maria said. 

“The eyes are the weak point,” Steve offered. “If you can get close enough to them without being electrocuted.” 

“Nasty way to die,” Bucky agreed. “Avoid it if you can.”

_ He can’t see. You can. _

“Be ready,” Clint told Natasha, the plan forming in his head. “Keep Lucky close and the twins safe.” 

“Clint?” She risked a sideways glance. “Are you about to do something heroically stupid?” 

“You know me so well,” he replied with a grin. “Now!” 

The ferrets darted across the floor, running past the wraiths, and launched themselves at Pierce’s ankles, climbing up his pants and shimmying inside his shirt. It was a risk, Clint knew, but a shield spell usually protected from other magic or physical attacks, not a ferret’s ticklish feet. Pierce jerked, ripped at his shirt, but Kodo and Podo were already out the collar and jumping to the floor, scurrying out of arm's length. The portals winked out, one wraith bisected by the quick closure. 

“Good job, Barton!” Tony crowed. “Now if you can just keep him for a second or …” 

Pierce flung his hand and a spider flew off, one of the many that had hitched a ride on the ferrets and were now crawling all over the Lich’s body. They probably couldn’t hurt him but they distracted him and bought enough time for Tony to do his own magic and for Clint to spin on his heel and make a dash for the archway. 

The move surprised the wraith; one lone tentacle snapped his way and he dodged it. The only one not taken aback was Vision; the cat leaped and landed on Clint’s shoulder with only two steps to go. Someone called his name but Clint didn’t look back, tackling Phil and knocking them both into the shimmering veil. 

“Bet they didn’t see that coming,” the voice said.

The energy hit Clint square in the chest and knocked him out cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of revelations coming fast and furious here. 
> 
> The Duke of Whitehall is Daniel Whitehall, a H.Y.D.R.A. baddie from Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.  
> Obediah Stane is the bad guy of Iron Man I.  
> General Thaddeus Ross is Bruce's long time tormentor and will always be a bad guy in my head canon, Sokovia Accords and all.  
> Alexander Pierce is from Captain America: Winter Soldier. The whole time I was writing this, I picture Robert Redford delivering Pierce's lines. Helped me get the tone I wanted. 
> 
> Fun fact: in Dr. Strange comics, there are nasty creatures called Dire Wraiths who come from another dimension. 
> 
> The answers will keep coming in the next chapter. Wanda, the voice in the veil, our erstwhile Stewards of Light, another tagalong ... the end is in sight. 
> 
> Is a lich ticklish? All I can say is if I had spiders crawling on me, ageless evil power or no, I'd freak out.


	20. Chapter #19:  Three is a Magic Number

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's willing to risk all to save Phil. Fortunately, he has some help both inside and outside the veil. Maybe they'll all survive ...

_ A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it. _

  
  


“Merp.” 

Clint blinked and became aware just as a paw slapped his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m …” 

Memory flooded his brain and he sat up, his head spinning from the quick motion. Pierce, the dire wraiths, the veil … 

Clean hay was beneath his palms, the stall empty except for him and the cat. Sunlight shone through the small window, dusty motes rising up around him. Voices filtered in from outside along with the neighing of horses; somewhere a dog was barking and children were shouting. He cursed as he pushed himself up; he must have passed through into one of the worlds of the Nevernever instead of finding Phil. 

He walked out of the stable and into the courtyard area of what appeared to be a country tavern. A wagon of ale barrels was parked by an open cellar door, smoke was wafting up from the chimney, and laughter came from inside the main building. 

“Damn it.” 

A squeal and a little girl ran around him, dashing towards the low slung outbuilding that housed the kitchen. No more than eight, she looked back over her shoulder, her auburn hair swinging in a braid, curls of hair escaping to frame her face and green eyes. 

“You can’t catch me,” she called. “I’m going to get the first one!” 

The boy was close on her heels -- same age, same hair, same facial features

“It’s my turn!” he insisted, putting on a burst of speed. 

“Wanda! Pietro! What have I said about running near the horses?” The woman stood on the steps of the tavern’s entrance, hands on her hips, an apron around her waist. 

“We’re not running, Mama,” the boy said as they both dropped to a walk. “We remember.” 

“Un-huh.” She wasn’t buying the contrite act. “Have you finished your lessons?” 

“Yes, Mama.” The girl bobbed her head. “And I cleaned my side of the room.” 

The boy shoved her shoulder. “You did not.”

“Did too,” she shot back. 

“Come inside and let’s see, shall we?” The woman told them. 

“Aw, Mama, we were going to …” the boy began to complain. 

“Now, Pietro.” 

The men unloading the wagon came up from the cellar; they smiled at the kids’ dramatic dragging of feet and loud sighs as they followed their mother inside. Clint seized on the chance and approached them. 

“Hey, can you tell me …” 

Neither man so much as reacted to Clint’s words, continuing on with their task of lifting the next barrel and maneuvering it to the makeshift ramp of wooden boards. 

“Hello? Anybody?” 

Clint stepped in front of one of them; the man backed right into him. Every place they touched sent ripples through the man’s body as if a stone had been dropped in water, disturbing the surface. The contact was cold and caused little sparks to jump across Clint’s skin. 

“They’re not real.” 

He knew that voice. Head whipping around, Clint saw a young man standing on the tavern stairs. In simple brown leather pants, a blue shirt and grey vest, he was looking right at Clint, his blue eyes framed by silver hair. 

“I got that much.” Clint stepped around the wagon and came to a stop by the man. “You’re the one who’s been talking to me and Phil.” 

“You can call me Pietro,” he said, holding out a hand. He nodded to the left, and Clint walked behind him as they circled around the corner. “Been trying to, at any rate; sometimes I can hear people when they get close enough, make a connection. But it takes a lot of energy to push through, thus the cryptic one and two-word phrases.” 

“You’re trapped in here like the others,” Clint said as they ducked under low hanging branches of an elm tree. The man took a seat on the bench near a trestle table. “And think I can help you.” 

“It’s complicated,” he admitted. “The veil is seeping into many worlds, not just ours -- too many attempts to tap its magic -- and we’re reaching critical mass. Even the strongest damn can burst if there are enough pinholes.” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a foretaste of what could happen. Blighted areas, twisted animals turned to monsters, undead men who want to commit genocide,” Clint told him. “But I’m here to get Phil, first and foremost. I’m not going to let Pierce use him to get what he wants.” 

“He’s still calling himself Pierce? After all this time.” Pietro shook his head. “He was Pierce Redford when we knew him, the Nach-Dion of Triskelia. The man was a piece of work; could talk just about anyone into anything. Wanda believed in him; we walked right into his trap, sure his intentions were good.” 

“You’re the brother.” It clicked for Clint “In the story I heard, you died, and she went crazy with grief.” 

“She didn’t go crazy. Did they say she couldn’t control her power? It’s all bullshit. She held that damn gate until everyone was clear, saved every one of their lives, and shut down Pierce’s spell. Knew exactly what she was doing, that she was absorbing too much of the veil to come back. Tried to get me to leave with them, but no way in hell was happening,” he said. “One of those damn wraiths came at me from behind, right at the end; by sheer force of will, Wanda brought me here with her.” 

“Here?” Clint asked. “Are we in the veil?” 

“Yes, but In a memory. This is where we grew up. Mother ran the tavern after our father left; she was the strongest woman you’d ever want to know, raising three kids and keeping the drunks in line. The happiest time of our life, these early years, before the soldiers came and left nothing standing. We survived by running into the forest; hId for days, too scared to come out. Thought we’d found our way again when we came to Triskelia, but the rot was already sewn in the very foundations of the city.” He stopped, seemed to lose the thread for a moment, then pulled himself back. “Wanda created it, a kind of bubble in the veil. I suspect she planned to join me, but she lost her way, became part of the structure itself. That’s where your Phil is now. The ones who take the power inside themselves either fade under the onslaught or end up part of it.”

“I need to find him,” Clint said, “before it’s too late. My friends are fighting dire wraiths right now. Is there a way to disrupt Pierce’s connection to the veil? Get Phil and you and Wanda and the others out?” 

“There’s a chance for Phil if we get there soon enough. Wanda and me, the others … “ Pietro’s words died out as he looked down at the cat who appeared and started winding around his feet. 

“He’s with me,” Clint explained. “Has a mind of his own and goes where he wants.” 

“Vis?” Pietro asked. “Is that you?” 

The cat sat back on its hind legs; smoke began to rise from its fur, floating up, growing denser, slowly coming together in the form of a man. Short blonde hair, lean legs, lanky body, he came into focus. In the middle of his forehead, a golden gem glinted and something rose in Clint’s memory, the ghosts at the lake, the man and the woman by the fountain. As the man stepped towards Pietro, the cat reeled back, looking lost and confused. Clint bent and scooped it up, tucking it in his vest where it curled against his chest. 

“Brother-in-law.” Arms open, the man scooped Pietro into a hug. “It is beyond good to finally be able to hug you again.” 

“And you too.” Pietro squeezed him tightly “I see you found the stone.” 

“In the mere of Briongloid, guarded by the ghosts of the lost legion; the cost was high but was worth it,” he said. “I saw her; she came with the Stewards and Barton. She healed him, shared her energy. For a moment, we were together.”

“We can use that.” Pietro stepped back, his eyes flicking towards Clint. “His connection to both Wanda and his lover.”

“Um, excuse me, but does someone want to fill me in on why a man was riding pillion on my cat and what that stone is?” Clint interrupted. “‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like I’ve been used.” 

“I am sorry, but, yes, you and your friends were my way in; the veil resonates with you and I needed that,” the man said. “I am Viseniya, archivist of the third order. The cat kindly accepted me as a passenger; it was a boon that you are a dreagst as that allowed us an avenue of communication. I have spent generations studying, trying to find a way to free my wife and her brother, drawing on the energy of the veil to keep searching long past my material form’s ability to keep up.”

“You’re a lich like Pierce?” Clint didn’t like the implications of what he was saying, his hands straying to the hilt of his knife.

“No,” Pietro said, shaking his head. 

“Yes, Viseniya said at the exact same time. 

“It’s not the same,” Pietro insisted. “Intention matters; Vis takes only tiny amounts, shared freely by the veil. He’s a good man. PIerce is evil and seeks to take more than he needs.” 

“In essence, though, like him I have outlived my body and used magic to stay alive. My goal has always been to find Wanda. I’ve done what I had to in order to free her” Viseniya corrected. He tapped the gem on his forehead. “For centuries I chased the rumor of a mage who crafted a stone that could hold the veil’s magic, allowing the bearer to safely channel it. Thanos, the Mad Titan, sought it; had he found it, the worlds would have felt the edge of his blade. Arnim Zola would have had it but for a handful of heroes who held him and his army at the Pass, allowing the others in the legion to escape. They gave themselves to the light to keep Zola and Schmidt at bay.”

“The lake,” Clint said. “Those ghosts called up by that necromite were the lost legion.”

“Yes, the ones who were tasked with protecting the gem. Had the assassin not called them up, I would still be there, lost in the spell that held them bound. But I am not and now we have the chance to end this.” 

“I’m all for that,” Clint agreed. “Time is ticking. Let’s find Phil, cut Pierce off, kick some ass. Point me in the right direction” 

“Just follow the threads,” Viseniya said. “You already know the way.” 

Clint glanced down and saw the lines of magic that spindled off him, disappearing into the air, leading in different directions. A thin one joined him to the cat; he tugged a thicker one and, for the briefest flash, heard Lucky’s growl, felt the snap of his teeth. Two circled each other, intricately entwined -- Kodo and Podo darted between legs, dragging something with them. Another was Bernard, the sunrise casting pink hues across the city. Red clinging like silk led to Natasha; she said his name as he touched her mind, but he was only able to maintain the connection for a breath. 

“Your ability keeps you grounded,” Viseniya went on. “Pierce and his ilk always think of the power as a blunt weapon; they never foresaw how the dribs and drabs of the veil would affect the worlds, sow the seeds of change. It is happening in all of them; for every blighted spot left behind and shadow that remains, there have been minute shifts, diversification, a spreading of magic through nature.”

“Wildes, you’re talking about wildes,” Clint said. “The whole question of whether we’re a natural mutation or caused by something else.” 

“The answer doesn’t have to be one or the other. The veil accelerates what might be; it does not create new,” Viseniya explained. 

“Like the drug. Pierce is going to use the veil’s energy to make it work, twist it to his needs.” Clint shook his head. “Destroy the wildes because we pose a threat to him and because he likes to watch the world burn.” 

“Which is why the Stewards were sent out,” Pietro said. “If one world falls, the others are affected. Send the light to fight the darkness.” 

“The stewards …” Clint’s brain stuttered over the words. “Sent out. By the veil. Meaning they were … in the veil? They’re not …” He put a hand on the tree trunk. “Holy of holies, they’re … they’re the ones who held the Pass, aren’t they?”

“Rogers and Barnes are from Schmidt’s time; Wilson from Mordo’s. You saw them when Phil invoked his gods and drove back the shadows. They came then because they were called.” Viseniya put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “You had not realized. I am sorry.”

“Oh fuck. Tony, he doesn’t know.” Clint closed his eyes, took a breath, then straightened up. “Well, we just have to save them too. Hell, let’s save everyone.” 

“Some of us may be beyond saving,” Viseniya said. “Let us focus on those we can reach, starting with your lover. If we pull that thread, you’ll find him … but be warned. Do not take what you see at face value. We bring our fears and dreams when we pass through the veil. None of it is real; you’d do well to remember.”

“You’ll find it’s hard to throw me. I can handle it.” Clint assured him. Magic was magic and Clint didn’t give a damn about anyone seeing inside his head. He’d survived some seriously bad shit in his life; he could deal with this. 

“I like you,” Pietro said, smacking Clint on the shoulder. “I hope you don’t die.” 

Before Clint could respond to that dire statement, a flash of gold came from the gem on Vis’ head and he was yanked forward, through the tree and into a swirling vortex. Sounds bombarded his ears, rising and falling, human voices and animal cries, metallic clangs and ocean waves, ticking clocks and clattering rock falls. Colors cascaded, silver glints and red bursts, white sparks and blue glimmers, orange flares and green glow. Touches buffeted his body, phantom fingers and heavy nudges, sharp stabs and quick punches, feather-light brushes and clamped pressure. Something passed so close the heat from its body warmed Clint’s left side; tall and slim, it bent over and screamed loud enough that Clint’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest. 

“... portal … Ivaplach … harvest …” Pietro’s voice was distorted, moving in and out. “... the line to …” 

A hard lurch left and then it was like slamming into a wall. The breath left Clint, knocked out by the sudden stop of forward motion; his stomach almost rebelled, but he held it down as he fell onto hard-packed earth, the coolness leaking through his pants and chilling his skin. The smell hit him -- piss and sweat and dirt and fear -- before his eyes adjusted to the little bit of light filtering around the cracks of the heavy door. A quiet sob of pain was instantly muffled as something heavy banged on the iron rectangle, rattling it on its hinges. 

“It’s almost time!” Someone called from outside. “Who’s the lucky bastard who gets to accept our hospitality today?”

Clint pushed himself up and looked around at the huddled bodies in tattered uniforms packed into the small room. Some were chained together, others cuffed with arms behind them, some curled up on the floor, bloody and bruised faces a testament to the treatment of their cruel hosts. Most of them flinched at the words; even battle-hardened veterans blinked at the threat. Only the man hoisted up and held spread-eagle against the wall didn’t react. His head was tilted back, eyes wide open, his whole body cloaked in dark energy that crawled over his skin. 

“Phil.” Clint stepped around the other men, pushing them aside, sending ripples through them. As he got closer, little arcs jumped from Phil’s skin to Clint’s; they burned as they hit, like sparks from a blacksmith’s anvil. “Hey, it’s me. I’m here.” 

Eyes flicked down; recognition came and went behind the blue irises. Phil struggled to force sound out of his mouth. “Why …” 

“Going to get you free,” Clint explained. He reached for the manacle around Phil’s left wrist. “Just got to …”

A whirlwind engulfed him, a magical storm tearing him apart. Voices swamped his ears, emotions overloaded his brain, images layered again and again in his eyes. So many animals of all types and sizes, trapped and scared, cold and alone. Monsters of every ilk, hungry, angry, afraid, asleep. Even people, screams and cries and questions. Every mind the veil touched or held or was passing through; he fell into the chaos, unable to separate one from the other, a strange discordant symphony. 

Pricks of pain brought him back to his body; the cat sank its nails into his chest, its head poking up from his vest, a low growl and hiss coming from its throat. Clint reeled back, breaking contact with Phil, and the cacophony dropped to a dull roar. 

“Yeah, got it. If I touch, I get sucked in. Thanks, buddy.” Clint scratched the cat’s head. “So how do we get him out of here then?” 

A shimmer grew around Phil, the energy shifting and expanding; the room began to fade, light spilling in from the grey clouds forming overhead. A cold rain swept in, soaking Clint within seconds as the ground grew muddy and the clash of steel began to ring out. No longer chained, Phil was now on foot, his sword slashing at the enemies overrunning his position. They pushed him back, isolated him and he was fighting for his life. Clint jumped out of the way as a soldier lunged, halberd cutting through the air where Clint had been. 

“To me!” Phil cried, his voice carrying across the battlefield. Others in the same colors he wore were besieged, they began to clear the way, to move towards Phil’s position. “Shield, to me!” 

Gidran sigil on her shoulder, the halberd bearer circled, hidden by two others, flanking Phil on his right. 

“Phil!” Clint shouted to be heard. “Behind you! She’s behind …” 

Phil stumbled, the gory tip of metal spike emerging in the middle of his chest; his eyes widened as he stared at it. Blood bubbled at the corner of his lips as he tried to speak, but, instead, he reeled to the left. The weapon was viciously yanked out and he gave a helpless cry, toppling into the roiling mass of magic at his feet. 

“No.” Clint jumped forward and caught Phil before he could sink all the way into the veil’s energy. This time he steeled himself and held on tight to the feel of the cat’s warmth on his chest and Phil’s weight in his arms. “It’s not real, Phil. This is just a memory.” 

“Hurts.” Phil coughed and a red rivulet ran down his chin. “Can’t … dying …” 

“You’re not. You didn’t. You lived Phil, remember? A cleric of the Triune Gods saved you and now you’re the head guard at the archives,” Clint told him. 

“Clint?” He squinted in pain. “You weren’t … this isn’t …” 

The battle around them grew dim and the swirling power grew stronger, a riptide that was pulling them in. 

“It’s not. We’re in the veil. Pierce is using you to get what he wants. He’s a lich, been alive for a long time,” Clint said as he frantically tried to keep his hold tight and not let Phil slip away. 

As if summoned by Pierce’s name, curls appeared at the edges of Clint’s sight, ashen grey and sickly hue. They pulsed as they pulled power and pushed it out. 

“Pierce.” Phil squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, then opened them again. “He’s getting stronger …”

“Yeah, and we have to stop him, break the connection.”

“I … I can’t. Too … weak …” 

Phil’s blood stained Clint’s hands, the gaping wound not closing. 

“You can,” Clint insisted. 

“Not … enough … I’m … no one person can …” 

Pietro stepped up behind Clint, Viseniya beside Phil. 

“You’re not alone,” Clint said. “I’m here and I have faith that you ….” 

She appeared, a figure of light that became a woman, and smiled at Clint.

“Faith.” Clint almost laughed. “You’re right. We’re not strong enough alone. But you have faith to move mountains, Phil. It saved you before and it will save us all now.”

“The Three.” Phil’s voice was fading. “Pray … captive …. can’t break …”

“Find that center where the three meet. Just like you told me.” Heedless of the onslaught, Clint refused to let go. “I know you can. I believe in you, Phil Coulson.”

“You … batter my heart …” Phil tried to drag in a breath and it rattled in his chest. “Oh, Triune Gods, knock … breathe, shine … and seek to … mend …” 

The ashen tendrils began to weave closer. 

“So I may … rise and stand … bend your force to … break, blow, burn … make me new.”

Phil tried to get his feet under him; Clint took his weight and helped him. They wavered inside the funnel of magic but stayed upright. 

“Like this besieged town … I am held hostage to another.” Phil’s words grew surer. “I want to let all of you in, but oh, to no end.” 

One of Pierce’s tendrils wrapped around Clint’s ankles, another around Phil’s leg. Suddenly, Clint could see the fight as clearly as if he was there; too few wraiths defeated, his friends surrounded, wounded, running out of time. 

“My reason should defend me, but is weak and unable to stand against such evil.”

Like a razor-sharp edge, Pierce’s magic cut them, deep slashes that bled magic tainted blood. Clint shuddered, but Phil didn’t falter; a white light began to glow, illuminating his face and creating a halo around his head. 

“The enemy has made me his own.”

Someone was calling his name, but Clint couldn’t tell who or where or why. Dissonance was filling him, bright and dark twining together, a crushing force. Just as he thought he was going to suffocate, a hand on his shoulder took some of the pressure; Pietro gave him a grim nod. 

“Divorce me, untie or break that knot.”

Stretched thin, the ties to Pierce began to twist, torquing tighter to keep their purchase. Viseniya touched Phil and the brightness spread, encompassing all of them. 

“Take me to you, imprison me.”

Phil looked directly at Clint as the wave of blackness practically swamped them. Pierce’s attention was now fully on them, his rising awareness of what they were attempting to do. Clint lost his footing, almost went down, almost took Phil with him, but red threads wove a net around them, magic dancing along the web, crossing and doubling back and tying them up safely. From Wanda’s fingers, the threads streamed, but they also scuttled along the grey tendrils, reaching in from outside, Natasha adding her own. 

“Unless you enthrall me, I shall never be free.” 

It was building, the force of Phil’s prayer, the strength of two sets of three calling upon the Triune. Pierce knew it and poured everything he had to turn back the cresting tide. It ripped at Clint, pointed spikes and jagged edges, but his unshakeable faith in Phil didn’t give. He slipped a hand into Phil’s and gave himself over to the crescendo. 

“Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.”

The searing brightness washed over Clint. The lines of Pierce’s magic shriveled and burned as the bands of pain loosened and the darkness gave way. It blasted outward, taking Clint’s senses with it, spreading through the veil and out into the worlds beyond. He got a quick glimpse of Lucky and the twins -- the dog spun around and barked at Clint’s touch -- then he was sliding into a jumble of fear and hurt and confusion, alien consciousness with knotted synapses that fired electrical pulses of feelings. Fight. Stop. Need. Anger. The dire wraiths.

And beyond, into the city, first Bernard and then Arrow; Jarvis raised his head and acknowledged him as he passed. Further, to the horses and dogs and cats in the Gidran camp; he reassured them the war was almost done. Then Malleton and Providence and Kingshire and Esconte and Gidra; he saw the whole of the world and the animals that populated it. Pockets of pain drew him; creatures suffering, contorted by blight, infected with Pierce’s disease. Gamloghs and gnaverin, drakaurs and ogres, contaminated with the same dark energy that had captured Phil. 

“See it?” Wanda pointed to a shivering manticore, licking its leg in a deep cave. “How he’s used the veil?” 

“Yes.” Clint reached out, scooped the writhing spot of energy, held it in the palm of his hand. He clenched his fingers and squeezed, breaking it into tiny pieces that blew away in the wind. With a breath, he gathered all of it up, pulling it from every monster; Wanda’s red magic contained it then slowly shrank until none of it remained. 

“The drug.” Clint was back in Providence; head jerking up, Raku, the young seer, saw him and his eyes widened. 

“It’s you,” Raku said. “The door, it’s wide open.” 

“I’ve got it,” Viseniya said. “In his chest, near his heart.” 

“Break the knot, Three who are more,” Phil entreated. “Bend your force and free them from evil’s grasp.”

Raku gasped. “What did you …” 

“NO.”

Clint slammed back into his body and he hit the floor. He looked up; he was kneeling inside the archway, Phil beside him. The others were staring, mouths agape at Clint’s sudden appearance. 

“YOU SHALL NOT STYMIE ME.”

The whole cavern shook as Pierce threw off the illusion of humanity. Flesh melted, bones cracked, and he became a shadowy mass of oozing fog, no face, no arms, and no legs. In a blink, he was in front of Clint; the fog sharpened into a claw and closed around Clint’s throat, cutting off his air and filling his mouth with an oily bitter taste. 

“I can end you with but a thought.” His voice reverberated inside Clint’s head, sharp and biting. “You are naught but an ant to me, tiny with your petty power.”

“Fuck … you.” Clint could barely utter the words, mouth-filling with blood as PIerce choked the life out of him. “And I’m … not … alone.” 

Power blew out of the archway as Wanda stepped through, hands ablaze and hair wreathed in magic. She flicked a wrist and winds began to buffet Pierce, eating away at the edges of his amorphous form. 

“Your time is over,” she said, light streaming from behind her as the doorway flared. “The veil takes back what belongs to it.” 

“You will not survive the attempt,” Pierce promised. “Nor will this one or the others.”

With screeches, the wraiths increased their attacks; Clint shoved his way into their minds, found the twisted knot of Pierce’s power, and yanked. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, his brain shutting down; the last thing he could do was save his friends. He felt the wraiths pass as they broke off the fight and fled through the archway, taking the chance to return home. 

“It matters not,” Pierce told him. “No one can stop me.” 

“We will.”

The pressure released and Clint reeled back, dragging in long breaths to fill his lungs. Through watery eyes, he saw three radiant figures advance on the lich, swords aglow. Steve at point, Sam on his left, and Bucky on his right, their bodies slowly turning into light. 

“We will.”

Bruce, Maria, and Tony filled in the gaps, closing the circle, trapping Pierce. 

“We will.” 

Phil and Natasha slipped their arms under Clint and helped him rise; they stepped to one side, Lucky circling Clint’s heels, Kodo and Podo climbing up to his shoulders, the cat jumping down to join the dog on the ground. 

“We will.” 

Pietro and Viseniya appeared behind Wanda, flickering shades of men on either side of the powerful mage. 

“I am immortal,” Pierce proclaimed. The fog drew in upon itself and a ghostly form took shape in the center. “Even combined you have not the magic to destroy me.”

“No, but where three or more are gathered, the Triune is too. In diversity, they bring strength. In variety, power. In multitude, healing,” Phil said. He held his medallion up. “Four threes. A Quatro. Three paths and a center. And one thing that doesn’t belong. You.” 

The medallion lit up like a beacon, casting a flare into the archway; the veil turned silver and exploded in a rush, shimmering energy reaching out like a hand to scoop Pierce up. 

“It can’t … You can’t … I am ...” 

His shouting was cut short as he was consumed and pulled in, the veil reclaiming every last drop of energy he’d stolen. 

“Holy shit,” Tony said. “That was …” 

Clint didn’t hear the rest because his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. 
> 
> That's John Donne's Holy Sonnet 14 "Batter My Heart" that I'm changing. One of my favorites that I use a lot in my writing -- it really fits the bill here. 
> 
> Viseniya is Russian for Vision/Sight. *winks*
> 
> In numerology, three is a sacred number as is any multiple. Four 3s (12) shows up all over classic literature and even in the Bible (12 disciplines). Ever wondered why 12 is a dozen when we have 10 fingers? There's a fascinating theory that it has to do with the seeming miracle of how two people can create a third life (*sings "a man and woman had a little baby"*... thank you Schoolhouse Rock) but there's also the whole triune gods and goddesses of so many pantheistic religions (Three muses, Three fates, hell, even Jung's archetypes of male and female), not to mention the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Here, though, I wanted to play with the notion of diversity, that there is strength in acceptance of differences and multiple viewpoints. 
> 
> According to the comics, the Mind Stone (the one Vision has on his forehead) can access all minds simultaneously and can even be a manifestation of a universal subconscious ... *coughs* the veil *coughs*
> 
> Yeah, I've been telegraphing that Steve and Bucky and Sam aren't what they seem. Hold on, okay?


	21. Chapter #20: Endings and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so this tale comes to an end with the admonition that only those who are without sin should cast the first stone ... and since we're all sinners, the gang decides to share some food and wine and whiskey and let the rest go. 
> 
> OR
> 
> Clint saves everyone, even if it's not in the way he expected. 
> 
> OR
> 
> The power of three, baby!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this ride with me. I hope you enjoyed it! Please remain seated until the car has pulled into the station and come to a complete stop. I hope to see you again soon!

_“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”_

  
  
  


The wet tongue that licked his face was accompanied by bad breath; Clint’s eyes opened to find Lucky’s nose in his face. 

“Down, boy, I’m alright.” He pushed Lucky off of him and saw Natasha. “How long was I out?” 

“Long enough for me to catch your ass and keep you from hitting the floor a second time.” The concern in Natasha’s voice belied her harsh words. Clint took her hand as he pulled himself up. “You scared me, rushing into the portal. Don’t do it again.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Clint kissed her on the cheek. “Nice time you go with me.”

“Damn straight.” Natasha scooped up Kodo and Podo from underfoot. “We do stupid things together.”

“Yeah, you could have taken us along too,” Tony injected. He had a sluggishly bleeding cut down the side of his face that ran far too close to his left eye. “We might have been able to help.” 

“Your friends care about you,” Wanda said, bending over to pet Lucky. “But you are far from alright. Pierce’s magic leaves stains. Let me …” 

She touched his throat and the pain eased. 

“That’s twice you’ve healed me.” 

“And we’re still not even.” Wanda’s eyes cut to where Viseniya and Pietro hovered. “I owe you for bringing them back to me, more than I can ever repay.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it alone.” He turned his gaze on Phil, noting the tired slump of his shoulders. “Takes twelve, eh?” 

“That it does.” Phil came easily when Clint held out an arm, and they rested against each other. 

“Not exactly sure how we did it,” Bruce said. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony slapped him on the back. “The lich is dead, time for a party. Some whiskey and good eats and a bit of bed-shaking sex is a perfect celebration.” 

He winked at Bucky who shared a glance with Sam. “Um, Tony …” 

“I know, I know. Clint here did the heavy lifting. He and Phil get the royal treatment -- big room, big bed -- for bringing these guys home,” Tony said. “But we did fight some nasty monsters, so …” 

Wanda interrupted. “I thought you understood; we cannot return to this world. The energy has changed me; I am not what I was. And Vis and Pietro …” 

“I’m dead,” Pietro put it bluntly. “Wanda and the veil’s power keeps me tethered. Were I to go much further away from it, I would cease to be.” 

“And I would become like Pierce,” Viseniya added, “if I tried to be more than this insubstantial thing you see before you.” 

“But …” Clint’s brain faltered; hadn’t that been the point or one of them at least? Save Phil. Save her. Save the veil. Save them. 

“There are many worlds in the Nevernever,” Viseniya explained. “A vast spectrum, even ones where physical forms are not needed. A place we can live as we wish, make a life for ourselves. You gave us that opportunity.” 

“And now that Wanda’s not bound up by Pierce’s tendrils and the veil’s magic, we can patch the holes, stop the bleed through,” Pietro said. 

A nudge from Bernard and Clint saw what he did, a group of guards with Melinda in the lead and Erik Lensherr right behind her. They were entering the door upstairs; it wouldn’t be long before they made it to the chamber. 

“We’re about to have company,” he announced. 

“We should …” Pietro tugged on Wanda’s sleeve. “This is going to be hard enough to explain without ghosts and beings of light.” 

“True,” Wanda agreed. “Come to where the veil is thin if you need us and we will hear you; you’ll always be connected.”

“We will,” Clint promised. 

She turned to the arch.

“Nice fighting with you,” Steve told Maria. “It was a pleasure.”

“You did good.” Sam clapped Clint on the shoulder. “Made our job easier.” 

“Yeah, Barton,” Bucky said. “Inserted yourself right in and went for it.” 

They were starting to glow again, their edges growing fuzzy. Clint tried to chuckle at Bucky at humor, but the full weight of their going was settling in his chest. Days. He’d only known them for a handful and yet they’d become family in the same way Natasha was and he hoped Phil would be. 

“You know me.” Clint’s throat closed up as he tried to speak. “Always go balls to the wall.” 

Their skin was dissolving into tiny pinpoints of light and beginning to float in the air. 

“Wait.” Tony took a step towards Bucky. “What … hey… you’re not …” 

“They’re going back in the veil.” Bruce laid a hand on Tony’s air. “Stewards of Light. They’re the guardians, the ones that saved us in the pass.” 

“No.” Tony shook his head. “They’re not … they have bodies! He was in mine and I was in his and it was damn good, so they can’t be …” 

“It’s part of the deal,” Steve explained. “When we’re in the veil we’re …”

“In stasis,” Sam finished the thought. “It’s like being asleep with time passing us by.” 

“... and when we’re needed, we’re woken up and sent. The energy of the veil sustains us, keeps us from growing old,” Steve continued. “Without it …” 

“... we’d be a pile of dust and bones,” Bucky finished. He raised his hand and stroked one finger along Tony’s jawline. “Told you I was older than I looked.” 

“Don’t go,” Tony said, his eyes locked on Bucky’s. “I can figure this out. Hell, I’m the most talented mage of this generation and Bruce is smarter than me, and Phil can probably pray up a solution.” 

Steve and Sam were changing, almost all brightness in the outline of a man. Bucky bent his head and kissed Tony, his body growing more diffuse as their lips touched. 

“I know you’ll try,” he said when they parted. “But we are what we are and there’s no way to change that.” 

“James.” Tony’s voice wavered. 

“That’s not exactly true,” Viseniya interjected. “The problem lies with the connection to the veil; what it gives, it takes back. If there were a way to separate the energy from the membrane…”

“It would degrade,” Wanda said. “Slowly become inert.”

“Yes.” Tony jumped in. “But that’s the idea, right? Masconi theorized that magic could be delineated from its origin by blocking the alchemical reaction with a vibranium shield. He never made it work but he didn’t have my resources.” 

Viseniya lifted his hand; the gem in his forehead levitated outward until it spun slowly above his palm. “Masconi based his ideas on an older theory.”

“Is that …” Bruce stepped closer “Rasum’s stone? It’s real?”

Tony whistled. “A containment bubble for raw power; I thought it was an old wives’ tale. If Obie had gotten his hands on that …”

“Which is why it has to be destroyed,” Steve said. “Good people died to keep it out of the hands of villains like Schmidt and Pierce.” 

“Agreed,” Viseniya said. “I had thought to release the energy in the veil, but now I have a better idea.”

He held it out towards Wanda; she smiled and nodded to him. “Yes, that will work nicely.”

Red wreathed her fingers, spun out, and curved around the gem. Waving her hands, she bit her lip as she built the magic into a steady stream. The stone began to vibrate then the hard exterior facets broke apart and the illumination inside split into three spheres. 

“Are you saying …” Steve eyed the brightly glowing balls. 

“You’ll age as it degrades,” Viseniya said. “And its healing will fade as it does.”

“You’re saying we’ll grow old and die,” Sam said, “but we’ll have a life.” 

“Yes.” Wanda floated the spheres towards them. “But you’ll need to take them quickly; I am holding them back from …” 

Sam closed his hand around one; it flared yellow, ran up his arm, spread through his body in a flash, and he was human again, light banished. 

“Hell, yes.” Bucky grabbed at the closest one. He laughed when he looked down at his body then grinned at Tony. “It is on, Stark. You and me and that mouth of yours.” 

“Steve?” Sam asked when Rogers hesitated. “Come on, man.”

“We serve as stewards, protection against the incursions of evil,” Steve said. “Pierce may be gone but there will be others.” 

“Take it,” Bucky told him. “It’s time for us to retire. You know you want to find a kick-ass woman and have a passel of babies.” 

“We’ll be there to stop them,” Pietro assured him. “And, assuming you have kids who carry on the tradition, they can help us.” 

Steve blushed and resolutely didn’t look Maria’s way as he stretched out his arm and scooped up the last bit of magic. 

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll make our lives count, promise.”

“You already have, my friends,” Wanda assured them. 

Voices echoed from above, the Triskelian guards coming through the doors. Melinda and Erik appeared on the platform; Erik’s eyes widened as he saw them. Wanda raised a hand and waved; he returned a slow nod and a slight bow. Then she stepped into the archway, Viseniya and Pietro on her heels. 

“Something tells me this is going to be a really long explanation,” Melinda said once she got down to them. 

“It’s a hell of a tale,” Phil agreed. “But, honestly, right now I’d love something to eat. I missed dinner last night.” 

“Breakfast sounds amazing,” Clint agreed. 

* * *

Clint sat on the steps of an inner bailey, propped against the building’s wall, watching the traffic on the street beyond the lower portcullis. The guards had brought them here to the center of the city, the same place where they’d met Erik and Charles and Jean yesterday, and given them rooms with private baths. By the time Clint had finished rinsing with the last bucket of warm water, clean clothes had been spread out on the bed and a guard was waiting outside the door. The questioning began in earnest, but, thankfully, also included a spread of mouthwatering food and drink. There was even appropriate diced up meats and water bowls for the animals. Once he’d told his version of the story three times … albeit with some minor alterations that weren’t really anyone’s business but his and Phil’s -- he’d snagged a wineskin and made his way outside, craving the sun on his face and a modicum of normalcy after the strange journey of the last few hours. 

“Well, here we are then” Natasha dropped down beside him, another full skin in her hands. “Hospitality lives up to the rumors, I must say. They could have given us the cheap stuff, but this is Baffera Merlot.” 

“The sausage was especially good.” Clint toed Lucky who was sprawled out at his feet, taking up almost a whole stair. “I had to stop Skye from giving him anymore; he’s going to be super farty for the next few days. Best sleep upwind.” 

Kodo chittered at him, lifting her head from where she was curled with her brother, basking in the sunlight. 

“Oh, you ate plenty too,” Clint answered. “If we stick around here too long, you’ll be roly-poly and too big to sneak into small spaces. You should learn from the cat when to stop.” 

“Speaking of.” Natasha ran a hand along the curve of the cat’s back; it arched into the touch. “Are you keeping the name Vision? Seems a little outdated now.” 

“Yeah, I was thinking something simple,” Clint said. “It’s a stubborn little cuss, that’s for sure.” 

“Gus.” Natasha scratched behind its ears. “That will work.” 

They sat in companionable silence for a while, drinking their wine, city life going on around them. No need to talk, they understood each other far too well. Whatever happened next, they’d face it together. 

“Okay, I’m exhausted.” Bruce sat on the step below Natasha and took a swig from her skin when she offered. He rested his head on Natasha’s knee. “I could sleep for a day and a half at least.”

“A fortnight off. That’s what we all need,” Clint agreed. 

Another silence descended until Bruce, eyes closed, spoke again. 

“They want me to stay, offered me a permanent scholar’s chair. Free reign of the Archives, a workshop, membership in the Collegium. They’ve offered the same for Betty with a contract to work with their healers.” Despite the good news, Bruce sighed. 

“There are always strings,” Natasha said, her fingers stroking through Bruce’s messy curls. “Doesn’t mean it’s not a good thing, though.”

“Since I’ve read Teneik’s book, they want me to transcribe it,” he answered. “That way others can study it and not set off the spell. Makes sense, it’s just …”

“You don’t know if they want Bruce the scholar or Bruce the Orcneas,” Clint finished the thought. “One of the downsides of wilde abilities. Do they want you or what you can do?”

“Exactly.” Bruce opened his eyes. “Plus, now that I’m whatever I am, is sitting in a room reading a book the only way I can help? I mean, I have the strength, shouldn’t I use it?” 

“Doesn’t have to be one or the other,” Natasha told him. “You can have a place here and do other things too.” 

“Yeah.” Bruce slipped his hand around her ankle and squeezed. “Other things. I want to explore that.”

“Here you are.” Phil came out of the door, carrying two bulging pouches. Clint shifted, spreading his legs to make room between them; Phil sat down and immediately leaned back onto Clint’s chest. “They were changing out the buffet for nuncheon, so I snagged what was left of the sausage rolls and sweet butter apples if anyone’s hungry.” 

“I’ll take a couple of the rolls.” Bruce pulled two out when Phil opened the bag. “Can’t seem to fill my stomach.” 

“You burn a lot of energy when you’re changed,” Clint told him, snatching one of the ripe red fruits for himself. Lucky turned sad eyes up, following the sausage as Bruce took a bite. “Do not give him any no matter how much he begs. He’s way past his limit.”

“I thought they’d keep you in there for a lot longer,” Natasha said to Phil. “Last I heard they were talking about magical tests to check the effects of exposure to the veil’s magic.”

“Charles said I deserve a day off before they start poking and prodding at me, and I’m going to take him at his word.” Phil bit into his own apple with a snap of crisp skin; juice ran down his chin. “Going to check in on Lola then do whatever I want until tomorrow comes.” 

“I might have a few ideas on what to do.” Clint’s cock stirred as Phil’s tongue darted out to lick at the sweetness. “I’m very good at filling things”

“So you say.” Phil smiled up at him. “But you might have to prove it to me.” 

“I come bearing whiskey.” Tony joined them, spreading out on the other side of Bruce; he held out a full skin. “I’ll trade.” 

They passed it around, Clint and Phil giving over the wineskin to Bruce and Natasha and switching to whiskey. Tony wolfed down a sausage roll, pretended not to break off pieces for the ferrets and Lucky, and tossed the last of it up in the air where Bernard swooped down and caught it before settling back upon the roofline. 

“They’re going to stable the horses here and bring all our stuff. Jarvis won’t be all that torn up over Obediah; he never liked him anyway” Tony said. 

“What are they going to say about Stane, Ross, and Whitehall’s deaths?” Bruce asked. “No one’s going to believe a lich used the membrane between worlds to turn them to dust.” 

“Yeah, I saw it and I’m still working on believing it,” Clint agreed. “And you know the Gidrans won’t buy the story of Pierce getting sucked in. They’ll say it’s fake and Pierce is still out there somewhere.” 

“I’m thinking of going with a portal accident for Obie. That kind of magic was never his strong suit; hell, he smashed with raw power rather than used finesse on a good day. He’d had a few near brushes in the past so the Council will accept it. Plus it is sort of true,” Tony said. 

“The Gidrans who survived are being treated.” Steve joined them. Bucky flopped down and half-sprawled over Tony who looked far too smug at the situation. Sam sat down then passed around a bag filled with powder sugar covered cookies. “None of them saw exactly what happened but they heard Pierce admit he was using magic to stay alive and how Ross and the others were in on it.”

“Considering how the ministers preach that magic is evil and other rulers are greedy and corrupt, that didn’t go over so well.” Sam chased a cookie with a swig of wine. “Don’t mean the generals and higher muckety-mucks will believe them.”

“Siege won’t let up for a while,” Bruce said. “There are enough who agree with the vitriol Pierce was spouting; even his death won’t end the war.” 

“There’s already dissension in the ranks of the military and general sentiment is that the war has gone on too long. Things aren’t well in Gidra; many of the people are living hand-to-mouth while the nobles are drinking expensive wine and eating fine food.” Phil stopped to lick the sugar off his fingers and Clint took another swig of whiskey to cover the little groan that rose in his throat. “With Pierce gone, they’ll start arguing about who replaces him and, eventually, it will all fall apart.”

“Pass me that.” Bucky reached for the whiskey. “I need a swallow.”

“That can be arranged.” Tony winked. 

“And there we see the Stark in you,” Sam joked. “The Walter Stark I knew was a real bed hopper, seduced anything with a pulse.” 

“Our Howard was a piece of work,” Steve said. “Genius at magic, but not so great at moral choices.” 

“I thought you were talking about my father, but you mean the Stark who fought Schmidt and Zola, don’t you?” Tony shook his head. “Mom always said he was a cautionary tale about what happens when the ego gets ahead of ability.”

“All those spells, bigger and better ways to kill people.” Steve sighed. “I wondered what Jarvis saw in him; Edwin was as loyal as they came, a good man through and through. Stayed right by our side until the bitter end.” 

“Jarvis? Isn’t your horse named Jarvis?” Clint asked Tony, an idea popping into his head. 

“Family tradition. All the pets and horses are named after Jarvis’ family. Had a dog named Edwin when I was young, and my Jarvis’ mother was a spirited mare named Anna,” Tony explained. 

Clint glanced at Steve who tilted his head in response to the unasked question. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing Clint had seen in the last day or two; the veil did what the veil wanted, and if Edwin Jarvis wanted to protect the generations of Starks, who was Clint to judge? 

“Besides, there are lots of traditions in the Stark line,” Tony went on, “ and being an asshole is number one.”

“You’re nothing like ‘em,” Bucky said. “You care about other people, for one thing.” 

“True, but you have questionable taste in men,” Sam told Tony.

“Excuse me, I happen to know that Buck tastes exceptionally well, thank you.” Tony wiggled his eyebrows. 

“You do too, darlin’,” Bucky drawled, his gaze soft and fond. “Did I mention how much I like tart and tangy things?” 

“So, Steve, what’s next for you now?” Bruce interceded, stopping Clint from joining the pun fest.

“Erik offered us a position here to keep an eye on the portal.” Steve didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about the idea. 

“Not sure I want to stick around one place,” Sam said. “It’s a good job, steady, but there’s a world out there and I’m free to explore it. Wouldn’t mind heading South, hopping a ship, visiting some of those islands with white sand beaches.” 

“Maybe head back to Blymon, see what it looks like now,” Bucky added. “Never been to Nubari either.” 

“There’s this place way down on the Dianian coast, a little town on the top of the cliff, where they make the spiciest jerk chicken and rice, wrapped up in palm leaves, with coconut milk rum,” Tony told them. “Hammocks in the trees and three lay lines running through the rock. Warm enough to swim naked and you can dive off the top into a deep cove.” 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Bucky agreed. “I could bum around for a while. Not like we have an idea about how long the magic will sustain us so I’m going to live each day as if it’s the last.”

“Banner can make an educated guess; he studies the half-life of magic. What do you think, Brucie?” Tony asked. “If we extrapolate based upon the expansion of the blighted areas near the pass and the expansion of wilde abilities …” 

“Too many variables to pin it down, but it’s safe to say they’ll be around when our great-grandkids are grown,” Bruce said. 

“What?” Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re saying …” 

“A couple of hundred years, maybe more.” Bruce shrugged. “Veil energy is highly concentrated.” 

“Wow.” Bucky blinked a few times, took a swig of whiskey, then ate another cookie. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Steve was rattled, but he covered by changing the subject. “What about you, Phil? Back to guarding the archives?”

“Actually, they found a list in Ward’s rooms of the items he’d smuggled out and sold. Not all of them were for Gidra; he was an equal opportunity greedy bastard. Some are pretty valuable, one-of-a-kind, and five are marked with red level warnings. Someone’s got to chase them down, bring them back; since I did such a bang-up job on the retrieving Teneik, they want me to find the rest. ” He tilted his head up so Clint could see the curl of his lips as he smiled. 

“Dangerous books, eh?” Clint felt a weight le\ift off his shoulders. “Considering you were almost eaten by a watcher when you were on your own, you could probably use a pair of guides who know their way around.” 

“I could indeed,” Phil agreed with a solemn nod and a twinkle in his eye. “Good thing they’re giving me a generous budget to pay for any help I need.”

“Are any of them scholarly? Need translating?” Bruce asked. “I’m still looking for answers.” 

“That’s a possibility,” Phil answered. 

“Well, if they’re dangerous, you’ll need protection,” Steve said, “from all those who’d want to steal them.” 

“I probably will,” Phil replied. 

“And you’ll need someone with intelligence on this mission -- quest -- whatever,” Tony interjected. 

“You can come too, Tony,” Phil said. 

The portcullis began to rise and guards ushered the horses into the bailey yard. Everyone rose and brushed off crumbs; Phil passed out the remaining apples as they started down the steps to check in with their steeds. Phil held Clint back, waiting for the others to pass. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Phil told him. “If you want to go your own way …” 

“What I want,” Clint said, “is to slip away and find one of those nice clean beds, take off your clothes, and spend the rest of the day and night and most of tomorrow getting to know every inch of your body intimately.” 

A blush rose of Phil’s cheeks. 

“After that, well, Bucky’s got the right of it. Let’s just take it one day at a time. We make a good team, you and me and Nat, Bruce and Tony, Steve and Sam and Bucky. Doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks; we should grab it with both hands and enjoy it.” 

“And of the truths, there are Three that lead to serenity. Somethings, we cannot change; somethings, we can; and the Triune give us the wisdom to know the difference.” Phil cupped Clint’s chin with a hand. “ I want to see where this goes.” 

“Me too,” Clint promised and sealed it with a kiss.

* * *

**_EPILOGUE_ **

**_In another world, sometime later_**

The tavern was packed to bursting at the seams, people in every seat and gathered around the bar. Food flowed out of the kitchen, the servers winding through the crowd, delivering bowls of steaming stew and plates piled high. The boys were running back and forth, cleaning as soon as a space became available so someone else could sit down. The mood was high, a good harvest in the storehouses, and all the signs pointing to mild winter. 

He plucked the strings on his lute, tightening the pegs to bring them into tune; he had a setlist ready, upbeat songs to match the feeling in the room and a couple of options for stories, one with a dragon and another with pirates, both of which he knew his nephews loved. He’d have to finish the tale he started tomorrow; they’d badgered him the rest of the day about it. 

Behind the bar, his sister moved with purpose, drawing tankards of ale and passing them out. She gazed at her husband; he paused long enough to kiss her cheek. After all this time, they were still like newlyweds; they even argued in sweet tones and never went to bed angry. 

“Tommy!” Her voice rang out. “Leave your brother alone.” 

“But Mom!” Thomas whined. “He and Teddy were going to slip out and …” 

“Thomas Erik Maximoff.” Her tone brooked no argument. “The kitchen needs more logs for the fire; go fill up the inside holder.” 

“But …” 

“Now.” 

Thomas might be jealous of his brother’s friend, but tattling on them wasn’t going to end well for anyone. The adults already knew the budding spark between William and Theodore was going to lead to experimentation, and they had their eyes on the two. What Tommy really should do was accept his part of the triad -- Billy was following in his mother’s footsteps with magic, and Teddy was a smart boy who liked to think before he acted. Tommy was a fighter, just like his uncle.

“William, go help your brother.” His mother arched an eyebrow at her second son. 

“Can Teddy …” he started to ask but cut off when his mother nodded. 

They ran out the door in the darkening night and Pietro laughed, remembering how he and Wanda had argued much the same, still did sometimes. To see her children running around, happy and content, well, it was worth all the time and effort it took to keep them safe. 

Just as he readied to launch into the first chord, a chill wind blew across the room and a figure stepped through the back door. Silver glinted at his temples, greying with the years, but Steve Rogers still held his sword like the warrior he was. Behind him came three women, all with dark hair and dressed for battle. The one on the left was slim, wearing brown leather pants and vest and had a quiver over her back, a strung bow in her hand, and a grey pitbull at her feet. On the right was a woman with dark skin, clad in light armor stylized with red and gold filigree, magic circling her hands and intelligence gleaming in her eyes. Tall and dressed navy blue with metal gauntlets covering her wrists and the silver symbol of the Triune hanging around her neck, the one in the middle stepped up beside Steve as their eyes scanned the crowd. 

“Wanda.” Steve nodded as she came out from behind the bar. 

“How bad?” She asked, wiping her hands on her apron then untying the strings. Pietro was beside her in a flash, lute left leaning against his stool. 

“They call themselves Advanced Idea Magic,” the woman in the middle said. “They’ve almost perfected a way to contain energy, control who has magic and who doesn’t.” 

“Only the ‘chosen ones’ are allowed,” the girl with the bow said. “And guess who gets to decide who’s chosen?” 

“You’ve got to be one of Clint’s descendants,” Pietro told her. “Archer with an attitude and a dog.” 

“Kate Bishop.” She held out a hand. “Clint and Phil are my great-great-grandparents. And this is Daisy, second cousin, twice removed, Priestess of the Triune. Riri’s our scholar and a Stark.” 

“We have to stop them,” Riri said. “I’ve almost got the mechanics of the spell worked out to halt them, but they’re launching an attack and there’s no time.” 

“At the pass, of course,” Steve supplied. “Sam’s leading the counter forces but we need more firepower. Their leader managed to call up Pierce’s soul, get him to explain how he tapped the energy in the first place.” 

“I’ll send the warning,” Viseniya told them, “to watch the portals and weak places; we’ve got all the closest worlds covered. Don’t worry, we can hold here.” 

All around them, people were rising, reaching for weapons, all souls who’d been trapped or absorbed in the veil, ready to protect the home Wanda had made for them. 

“Watch the boys,” Wanda told her husband. “They’ll want to be in the middle of things.”

“I can handle them.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Go. Stop them. We’ll be waiting.” 

“Once more into the breach, eh?” Pietro winked at his sister. “Let’s save the worlds again, shall we?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story comes to an end. 
> 
> I'm a big fan of happily ever after endings and I really love the notion of leaving our heroes ready to set out on another adventure. I hope you like it too. 
> 
> For the eagle-eyed who noticed that Skye made an appearance as a priestess-in-training in past chapters, I've carefully named Phil & Clint's descendent Daisy to separate the two. And, yeah, that's Riri Williams making a guest appearance along with Katie Kate, Hawkeye. 
> 
> I'll be taking a break from long multichapter fics for a bit to catch up on some of my other series. Got a start of the next Bonds of Olds Domestic shorts and have sketched out plans for four other one-shots to work on as the semester rolls towards a finish in the first of December. Keep a weather eye out for new stuff coming down the pike!

**Author's Note:**

> Kodo and Podo are straight from Beastmaster. Made me want ferrets as pets and were damn cute, so here they are.  
> Lucky is from Fraction's Hawkeye and Bernard the Hawk is a nod to Clint's brother, Barney. Arrow was Lucky's original name in the comic, and Yelena is another Black Widow (WAAAAAHHH, BLACK WIDOW MOVIE ON HOLD ...)
> 
> Reditch: Red witch, a woman who practices animal-based magic. The witch generally takes on some of the characteristics of their "sisters."  
> Dreagst: Someone who communes with and controls animals. A Dreagst's magic can range from picking up emotions to seeing through animals' eyes and, some say, even shapeshifting.


End file.
